


Verumagus

by Forever_Seeking



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Druids, F/M, Grey Dumbledore, Grey Protagonist, Marauders, Mild Language, Mystery, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Romance, Sirius has a twin, Slightly Manipulative Dumbledore, Torture, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forever_Seeking/pseuds/Forever_Seeking
Summary: Standing at the edge, she wondered if it wouldn't just be easier to fall into the oblivion stretching out in front of her. After scrambling through life to get to this point all she wanted to do was stop, stop trying, stop torturing herself and everyone who tried getting close to her. There was something freeing about the idea of just letting go. Who cares if the world burned to a cinder as a consequence, they were all being burned enough already.....................Or: Sirius has a twin who isn't sure what side she's on.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on FanFiction.net under the same name but different author name. I've reworked this so many times now, it's starting to get embarrassing. But I've spent the last couple of months really fleshing out the plot and characters and hopefully this will be the last version. It's going to be a long story but it's become my main hobby project for the last couple of years so I really do need to tell it and see it through to it's conclusion.

## Prologue

_November 1, 1981_

**_Sirius Black Incarcerated_ **

_1 st November 1981_

_By Anderson Cronkite_

_Mass-murderer Sirius Black will not face trial after being found at a crime scene where approximately fourteen people were murdered. Among the victims was Peter Pettigrew, one of Black’s former school mates at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Whether this incident is tied to the events that occurred last summer at Fawley Estate, leaving Fawley Manor devastated, to which Black was centrally involved, is yet to be determined._

_Black faces life imprisonment at Azkaban Wizarding Prison in response to this horrendous crime. Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror office are still investigating the events surrounding the crime and are not ruling out the possibility that this is linked to the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which occurred on the same night._

**_Black the Barbaric_ **

_1 st November 1981_

_By Ruvea Skeeta_

_On a night that should have been a celebrated one world-wide following the fall of You-Know-Who, it will now forever be marred by the mass-murder of thirteen muggles and one wizard. The culprit, one Sirius Black, was arrested immediately following the attack by the Auror team._

_Exact details are still yet to be determined, but having gained inside knowledge from a source within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement itself, it can now be said with some certainty that Sirius Black had been a member of You-Know-Who’s inner circle. This may not be all that surprising considering the family’s sordid history concerning the Dark Arts._

_Black’s rage may have been fuelled by the events that transpired just last year, or it may have been orchestrated by Black who we now know was conspiring with You-Know-Who. One thing is for certain, Sirius Black, considering all that he has done, and all the more that he might have been involved in doing, should never be allowed to see past the hood of a dementor again._

_Forty Years Earlier_

Walburga Black knew a great many things. At least, of all the myriad of knowledge she thought she held on a myriad of subjects, the one thing she was absolutely sure of was that family was everything.

She’d grown up, visiting the house of her father’s brother, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, staring up at the tapestry of their family tree in Uncle Arcturus’ house. It sung to her, sung the names and dates woven into its fabric with the most beautiful and haunting melodies. She’d marvelled at it to such an extent that by the age of seven she could recite to you every name, describe every face. By her eighth birthday she had convinced her uncle to tell her about the names not on the tapestry, who were shown only with the memory of old flames. She quickly worked these names into her repertoire, sneering these new names while singing the others.

For the rest of her life, she would not be able to fathom how one could disgrace their family to such an extent that they would willingly remove themselves from that beautiful fabric.

In the fourth year of her Hogwarts education, they were faced with arguably one of the most terrifying creatures known to their world. She was anxious. To show weakness was a vulnerability she was not eager to expose. No one could quite understand why Eleanor Turpin’s vampire, who had been forced to wear a rather ridiculously short frilly dress, suddenly burst into flames that scorched the air before her. From that moment on, she swore to herself that she would never be the cause for another stain on her family’s history. No, the only thing she _would_ do, the only thing she was _willing_ to do, the only thing she _could_ do, was to help foster its growth.

The wedding to Orion was by no means a surprise. It had been arranged for years. Once they’d both graduated, there was no other course of action.

Orion was a cordial, dark-tempered man. His flame of fury was small but ever-present. His tenacity was one of quiet intimidation. It would do him well in the world of the Ministry. And paired with Walburga’s own disposition, it would most certainly make for an interesting union.

The most beneficial result of her union to Orion was that now she would be able to gaze upon that which had captured her attention for as long as she was willing to remember. She could finally see it grow before her very eyes.

But it didn’t.

After the first year, she was able to convince herself that it was normal for these things to take time. She was still young after all. If anyone were to ask, she and Orion were still firmly entrenched in the throes of being newly married.

After the second year, she told them that they were waiting for Orion to secure his position within the Ministry.

‘We’re rather eager to establish a position within the Wizengamot that will ensure the future advantages such a standing will mean for the children. I’m surely you understand Aunt Cassiopeia.’ 

Orion rose to secure such a place in the Wizengamot much quicker than Walburga had anticipated. In relative terms, taking two years to achieve this feat was a rather impressive accomplishment. But by the fifth year, it was becoming harder to ignore the strain in her smile. And the whispers that had slowly started years previous, like the start of a breeze, had begun to crescendo, to a raging wind. They swept up, following her around ballrooms and formal dinners. They settled around her, chilling her and leaving her feeling as cold and empty as her much-discussed belly.

Orion was becoming increasingly less understanding on the matter. Never having been a particularly tender man to begin with, he was quickly becoming more demanding in ensuring the matter was resolved quickly.

One of the last conversations she had ever had with her mother before her passing served a stark reminder of that which Walburga was constantly reminded. The senior told her daughter that Orion had every right to be frustrated, and it was solely up to her, the matriarch of this noble house, to find a solution to what was fast becoming an embarrassing problem. And quickly.

The sixth year had her approaching obsession. It had her researching everything she could conceive of, enchantments, potions, poultices, fertility medallions, charms, spells. The whispers were howling winds. Orion’s roughness spread throughout to the rest of the house and her mother was no longer there to motivate her when it was most needed.

By the seventh year, she was at her wits end. The tapestry had long since turned from singing to her, to hissing at her, to screaming after her every step.

She’d tried. She’d tried the potions, the poultices, the charms. None of them worked. None of them were going to work. Mother Magic had abandoned her. She wasn’t just going to be the reason for another mark. She was going to be the reason it ended.

It had been eight years. Eight years since her plight had begun. The whispers had long since become a raging storm. She had long since removed herself from its eye, taking shelter in the place that had come to resent her presence. There were few who were not part of that storm, who had not revelled in her withdrawal. So, when she was asked round for tea by one whom she could still call friend, she acted without hesitation.

‘I just had to tell you, as soon as I heard,’ she had told Walburga, tea freshly made but quickly forgotten on the sitting room table. Leaning ever so slightly forward, voice lowering to a fevered simmer, ‘I have heard of somewhere you might be able to go to address your . . . ongoing complications.’

Walburga stamped the quelling anticipation that grew in her belly. Walburga had long since learnt not to let her hopes raise too high.

Not many people realised that even within Pureblood society, there were certain circles which were best avoided. The Black’s dalliances with the Dark Arts were not ones that were hidden. Amongst themselves, to be a member of the sacred twenty-eight was to be synonymous with more . . . questionable tastes. However, there were facets of the Dark Arts that offered more risks to the apparent awards they brought.

Walburga knew this. She had spent a lifetime knowing this. Appearances were the most important thing to be upheld in their realm of existence. To jeopardise that was to truly risk losing more than your life, it would risk yourself.

Walburga knew this. So, as she walked further into the depths of Knockturn Alley, clutching at the small bit of parchment that held the details of her venture, she made sure the hood of her heavy travelling cloak was drawn and fastened. She kept her head down, not allowing herself a moment’s hesitation as she entered the small shop at the far end of the alley.

_November 3, 1959_

She thought she’d prepared enough. She thought she’d prepared for the discomfort, the waiting, the pain.

How wrong she had been.

The discomfort agitated her to the point where standing still was intolerable. The waiting had her believing that she’d been with child for nine years. The pain – that was what had caught her most by surprise. She was no stranger to pain, but this was a different beast.

She had no idea how long the entire process took in the end. She just wanted it to be over. She wanted it all to be over. And as the pain gave way, and the sound of cries filled the room, she thought it _was_ over, finally, mercifully.

That was until, ‘I-It’s a, it’s a girl, milady.’

Her fatigue stumbled. Rage scorched it away from her body as Walburga found the young healer who has spoken. She knelt at the foot of the bed, holding the small, wriggling thing, who was almost completely forgotten in the girl’s arms as the worst was anticipated.

But whatever retribution was about to befall the poor girl, was replaced with a loud shrieking cry.

The pain had returned, an inferno’s answer to a flame.

Another ten minutes agony and the pain abated, replaced by –

‘It’s a boy, milady!’

In the wake of the exhaustion, the frustration, the desperate, unrelenting agony of the past eight years, all Walburga could do was fall back into it all, staring unseeingly into the abyss before her.

_Please, let that be the last of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this prologue. This is a major rework on the multiple previous versions and I'm sure some people are becoming frustrated with how many times I've restarted this story (especially on fanfic.net). But I think this is going to be the one that sticks as I'm feeling a lot more confident writing this.  
> Normally I have a general rule that I'll never let the chapter numbers exceed the review numbers (e.g. if I have four reviews, I'll try and hold back on posting more than four chapters - if that makes sense). I've noticed on AO3 that there seem to be less overall comments per story compared to what I've seen on fanfic.net so I may not stick by this rule. But now you know that I really do mean it when I say that reviews are my fuel when it comes to writing. So don't be shy!  
> Till next time, happy reading!


	2. Chapter 2

## Chapter One

_December 1978_

It had been quite a while since either of them had been summoned down for dinner, not since Kreacher had barged his way into a fifteen-year-old Sirius' room to find posters of half-naked muggle women magicked to the walls. Sirius had made sure that the house elf would never be able to enter his room again after that – although from the small smirk that had held throughout the following scolding, she suspected that getting caught was part of the plan. What’s the point about being defiant if no one knew about it, after all.

Lyra had declined his offer to protect her room as well, not that she really needed it. Unlike him, she didn’t feel the need to provoke Kreacher or their parents. She had long since learnt to do as she was told. Her mother, in particular, had a small number of strict rules reserved for her only daughter. Rules that she made sure were obeyed. And Lyra had been living by those rules ever since she could remember, because the consequences of not doing so had been taught young.

Ever since the incident with Sirius’s room, he had never emerged at the dining table when company was present . . . It would be another six months till he was banned from dinners altogether. Their parents had taken to sending up his food with Kreacher every night. Lyra, as it turned out, was appointed the same fate by proxy. There had only been one occasion where her presence was requested.

That had almost been a year ago. She’d never told Sirius what they’d said to get her to sit at that table complacently. She’d never told anyone what they’d threatened her with if she didn’t comply.

She’d just turned sixteen, far too young an age to think about her life after Hogwarts. According to her parents, however, securing her future demanded their immediate attention. They were looking to form alliances and any alliance her parents wished to make was one Lyra wanted no part of. Nevertheless, she’d sat there, silent with shock and anger, as Orion and Mr Lestrange talked vaguely about their children’s potential futures. To his credit, at least Rabastan had had the decency to appear concerned whenever his gaze flickered away from their fathers across the table to where she sat. The word betrothal would never be mentioned, Purebloods believing themselves to be above such archaic traditions. No, every wedding that happened was one of the participants own choosing, after all other options had been discounted, of course. 

That had been almost a year and a half ago and since then, the twins had kept to themselves. Neither of them had ever lost any sleep over the fact that they were becoming more distant from their family.

So, when Mrs Black informed them both that they would be joining the rest of them as they entertained the Rosiers it did nothing but induce suspicion in them both. The Rosiers were one of the only families that consorted with them outside formal Pureblood gatherings. Sirius and Lyra had long since settled on the fact that their mother, being the social climbing type, clung to any connections she had as if it were a string that would keep her from falling off a cliff. No doubt she would want to make a good impression on her friends. Surely bringing her two eldest children out exile wouldn’t help her.

It was for those reasons that suspicion stretched over the dining table like a great rubber cord pulled taught.

Unfortunately, Madam Rosier prided herself on her ability to start a conversation, no matter how uncomfortable the situation.

'Walburga informs me that you achieved quite commendable results in your OWL examinations, Regulus,' Madam Rosier said, cutting her food into tiny portions and chewing each piece delicately, like a mouse gnawing at rope. Regulus merely nodded once, looking anywhere but down the table where his siblings sat. Madam Rosier gave a tight-lipped smile. 'Your housemates would do well to follow your example.’

Lyra could practically hear Sirius’ jaw clench as they slowly ate their own food, knowing exactly what house Madam Rosier was referring to. Regulus seemed to realise too as he lowered his gaze to his plate and held it there almost desperately.

It should have been normal by now for Regulus to be compared to the perfect pureblood. Lyra and Sirius had been hearing it for as long as they could remember. As a baby, Regulus had never cried too long, unlike the twins before him, Regulus never threw tantrums, or wandered off causing mischief. He never made Kreacher sprout wings that wouldn’t stop beating, lifting the house elf off the ground every time he tried to take a step – to this day each twin blamed the other for that bout of accidental magic.

But, as Lyra had come to realise years ago, what should be rarely ever is.

Regulus, for as much as she knew he wanted to play the part, he’d never grown used to the role. And right now, Lyra had the distinct impression that he was silently praying to be left out of whatever was brewing.

It seemed that he was out of luck though as Madam Rosier regarded him again.

'They tell me you’re quite adept at potions,’ she said, smirking slightly. A smirk that was mirrored on the face of her son, who sat silently next to his mother, and who had been mercilessly staring at Lyra ever since she sat down.

Lyra fought not to look up at him, knowing very well what she would find there. Her mother’s shrill voice rang through her head. _Keep your eyes down, child!_

Madam Rosier never looked anywhere else but at Regulus, though her attention certainly seemed to be focussed elsewhere. ‘You must get your skills in that area from your father.’ That smirk swelled. 'Though no doubt your curiosity on the subject comes from your mother.’

Lyra didn’t know why but her chest seemed suddenly tight. Without lifting her gaze, Lyra could just make out the flash of emotion that briefly passed over Walburga’s stern face before schooling her features back into terse politeness.

'And what about you two?'

Evan Rosier, eyes still wholly trained on Lyra from across the table, sat up straighter as the twins were finally being brought into the conversation. Lyra didn’t look up from the table, even as the conversation between the heads of both families, sitting at the far end of the table, tapered.

'From what they tell me _you_ can’t even hold a wand straight.’

Lyra quickly placed a foot over the top of Sirius', warning him not to act, not to speak. This storm that had started would be weathered, calmly.

Lyra said nothing. Lifting her eyes only enough to shoot a quick narrow-lidded glare across at her mother. Walburga replied with her own fierce, tight-lipped expression. Neither of them gave any indication that they were going to break the silence. A silence that proved too tempting for the Madam Rosier to refuse filling.

Smirk growing even wider, she tutted quickly. 'Frankly, I’m surprised you even bothered returning to complete your NEWTs. I heard you almost blew up one of the examiners in your OWLs.’ She threw a sidelong glance at Walburga. 'But I suppose side effects were to be expected,’ she said, almost sneering.

It was as if the rain had turned to hail, the storm now suddenly deadly. It clouded in Lyra’s chest, pressing outward in her lungs. A storm she fought to contained as she placed her knife and fork down, slipping her hands onto her lap, out of sight.

The two men at the end of the table abandoned the pretence of their hushed conversation as the shift in the air hit them. Orion Black’s dark grey eyes narrowed, peeking through heavy eyebrows, swivelling between Madam Rosier and his wife. Rosier senior sat stiff in his seat, his expression unreadable as he regarded the twins.

Lyra could feel her heart’s attempt to push through the storm. She willed her breaths to remain even and concealed as she felt the eyes of the table trained on her.

She should have known better than to comply with the demand that they be present tonight. What had she been thinking?

‘I mean, if it weren’t bad enough to have them sorted into a house ripe with corruption, known for its disappointments, then, to watch as they openly consort with mudbloods, blood traitors and half-breeds . . .’

Lyra’s teeth ground at the word, at whom she was referring.

‘You would have at least hoped that they had passible magical skill. But to lack even there, coming from such an ancient and proud household.’ She tapered off, her false sympathy making the air around them sizzle. ‘Honestly, Walburga,’ Madam Rosier said in a would-be polite voice, if it weren’t for the smirk that still held grip of her mouth and voice, ‘if I were you, I’d ask for my money back.’

No one was looking at the twins anymore, not even Evan, who was now blinking down the table at his mother.

Lyra was sure she was crushing Sirius’ foot now. She hoped her eyes weren’t too wide as she chanced another glanced towards her mother. Walburga had gone pale, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows as she stared openly at Madam Rosier, at the accusation that laced her words.

‘At least tell me they came with some sort of insurance.’

‘Lysandra.’ Rosier Senior’s warning rumbled over the table-top, thunder breaking through at last.

Is this what they’d been dragged down here for? For Madam Rosier to indulge her curiosity, for her to finally uncover the truth to those age-old rumours. Rumours she’d probably doubted to be true in the first place. Until now that is. For Walburga’s silence was as much a confession as Madam Rosier seemed to need as she ignored her husband, leant back in her seat, placed her joined hands before her, and smiled, a cruel, all-knowing smile.

‘You always have been an unfortunate victim when it comes to life’s little disasters haven’t you, Walburga. But then, you always seem to find a solution. Even if the ends prove more disastrous.’ All her amusement fell as she turned back to glare at Lyra. Suspicion and anger raging in her watery blue eyes.

Lyra held steady as she was inspected. Her clenched hands were begging to be put to good use. The storm in her chest had invaded her stomach and was stabbing at her heart and throat. She could feel Sirius’s annoyance and rage heating her side, especially as Madam Rosier opened her mouth again.

‘Although you’ve always been relatively lucky as well, I suppose. I doubt we all have to think very hard about why the youngest Lestrange seems to be so taken.’ She quickly shot her son a disapproving look as she noticed that his staring at Lyra had resumed. ‘You might be magically inept my dear, but I don’t suppose that particular detail factors into Rabastan’s thinking, not whilst he is so . . . distracted.’

Lyra’s heart shot to her throat as Sirius’ mouth opened, his snarling comment almost unleashing itself before Walburga said tersely, loudly, carefully, ‘Yes, we’re very pleased about the Lestrange’s interest. It will surely be a most positive influence for Lyra.’

Madam Rosier snorted, abandoning all pretence of politeness. ‘I daresay it will be, after having spent so long surrounded by the likes these two have kept for company. Blood traitors and half-breeds, who ever heard of such a thing.’ She leant across the table towards Lyra, her seat creaking as she did so. ‘The pups wouldn’t know whether to be stupid or ugly . . . As if your blood isn’t already tainted enough.’

Like a crack of invisible lightening the room and all its occupants went still, everyone and everything frozen in place save for Sirius – whose surprise almost knocked him from his chair – and Lyra, who’s white-knuckled fists had shot open, her breathing shaky from rage.

‘Lyra,’ Sirius breathed in amazement. Even the shadows from the flickering candles had halted. He looked beside him to find Lyra shaking.

‘I just . . . I just needed her to stop talking.’ She just needed the thunder to stop, to find some protection from the hail that had been pounding into her. She just needed silence. She couldn’t sit there anymore, listening to this awful woman say such things about her, about Sirius, about Remus . . . She just –

‘Lyra!’

The warning in Sirius’ voice made Lyra finally look up from the table, right to the face of Evan Rosier.

The storm turned into a blizzard.

The skin around Evan’s eyes was red, blistering . . . melting. His face, still frozen in a leering stare, was coming undone, being unmade.

‘Lyra!’

Lyra was jostled to where Sirius was now looking . . . at Madam Rosier . . . who’s sneer was drooping, her face sagging as the skin around her mouth started to sizzle, dissolve.

Reigning in her horror, she closed her eyes, willing the storm to calm, she willed the thunder to soften and pulled in the lightning’s glow.

She didn’t know how long it took, how long she sat there, fingers outstretched, eyes closed, the pressure of Sirius’ foot now on hers. It seemed like an age, or a minute, had passed before she slowly opened her eyes again, risking a quick inspection of the room.

Everyone looked dazed, they’re unblemished faces pinched ever-so-slightly as they took inventory of the table. Lyra imagined that they were each wondering whether anyone else’s skin had become momentarily hot and itchy.

Normally, Lyra had no patience for her father’s heavy voice, but she had never been so grateful to hear it as he cleared his throat a moment later calling for Kreacher to clear the table.

‘Enough with your excuses! Despite your most ardent beliefs, I am not oblivious to everything that goes on within my own house!’

Sirius knew it was dangerous. There were a great many things he could do within this house that could put him in danger, but listening to his parents engage in what could only be described as an intense argument (his parents – along with all other polite pureblood families – never argued, as Sirius had been reminded on multiple occasions throughout his childhood), was decidedly more reckless than usual, even for him.

He’d intended to go straight to his room after that monstrosity of a dinner was over.

As soon as the Rosier’s had left the house, ushered out the front door by their parents, Sirius and Lyra had been dismissed with matching scowls from their parents.

Lyra had turned on her heel and retreated up the stairs without a backwards look, her door slamming shut seconds later. Sirius knew how upset she was, it was most likely overwhelming her. She never handled rage well.

He’d been halfway to the first landing when he saw them leave the foyer in the direction of the study. Normally he would have dismissed it. But he didn’t think he’d ever seen his father’s face redder, and he’d seen it fiery plenty throughout the years. He lingered on the stairs, ignoring the glare Regulus shot him on his way passed, before descending and following after them.

They’d already closed the study door by the time he’d caught up. Instead of giving up however, something he would never do (he was a Marauder after all!) he stood as close to the door as he could, listening intently.

‘Orion, I have no possible idea what runs through the minds of everyone who comes into this house.’ Walburga’s biting voice was rising with every word. ‘Our eldest son should be proof enough of that!’

Sirius gritted his teeth at this slight. There were more important things to focus on than the well-known hatred his parents had for him.

‘It is not our eldest son that I was referring to . . . neither was Rosier.’ Where Walburga’s voice rose, Orion’s voice drew lower, like a bucket into the well of his formidable fury. ‘Why is it that I always get the impression that everyone knows much more about my own blood than I?’

Sirius heard Walburga scoff. ‘You’ve never taken an active interest in her before. Why now?’

Up till this moment Sirius had been merely curious, now his curiosity mixed with worry, water and oil starting to swirl in his chest.

‘I am interested in what interest’s others.’ There was a pregnant pause, Sirius wasn’t sure if anyone on the other side of the door was breathing – he wasn’t sure _he_ was breathing. ‘What interests _you_ about her, Walburga?’

‘Other than the fact that she’s my daughter, my first born?’ Sirius was sure that Walburga had meant the question to be just as biting as her previous comments, but he could hear her waiver, even if it was the smallest possible amount.

‘You really think I am a simpleton, don’t you?’ Orion asked, voice full of venom. ‘I have heard the rumours. Ever since they were born, I have heard them! I chose to ignore them because I reassured myself that my wife could never be that foolish. She knows better than that, I told myself. She would never associate with the people required to be able to carry out what they’ve said you did. You would not taint our bloodline, a bloodline that has remained pure and strong for so many centuries, to such an irrevocable level.’

It took all Sirius’ strength not to jump at the sudden noise of a chair leg being dragged across the wooden floorboards of his father’s study. He took a half step closer to the door so that his cheek was almost pressed flush against it.

‘Perhaps I have been wrong.’ Orion’s voice was almost at a whisper now. ‘You’ve always been an ambitious woman, Walburga. At times so focussed on your goal that it flirts with the point of brutality. It’s something I’ve always admired about you. But,’ a short yelp was suddenly stifled and Sirius’ hand instinctively flew to the door handle, ‘if I have discovered that you have used this to turn this family into a magnet for ridicule and scandal, if that girl should be anything other than a disappointment, just like her brother, then …’

‘Master Black should not be spying.’

Sirius whirled around so fast he was momentarily dizzy. Kreacher stood not two meters from him, his wide eyes glowering up at him, a malicious grin growing quickly.

Sirius moved toward him, ‘Kreacher, wait . . .’

But he was too slow. Kreacher popped out of sight before Sirius had the chance to take another step and the next second his scratchy voice was coming from the other side of the study door.

Sirius didn’t have time to turn and run before the door opened. Orion Black, in all his towering, twisted rage, glared murder upon his eldest son. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who left comments and kudos on the prologue. I'm going to try for weekly updates with this, but I'm not going to promise anything yet.


	3. Chapter 2

## Chapter Two

He’d come round three minutes ago. His ribs stung with every breath and he’d purposefully kept from looking in the direction of the mirror. Just as he tried ignoring the mirror, he also tried, and failed, to ignore the warmth that still coated his right hand.

Dread, cold and heavy like wet porridge, started to harden in his stomach as soon as his eyes had opened. A fear had gripped him, one had him panting, had him sweating, he could feel every bead of it slide down his face. It was fear at a level he’d never felt before. Sure, there’d been a couple of times during the full moon when Moony had almost got away from them, but that had always had a rush of adrenaline, of fun, in it. There was nothing but horror now. If he stopped, even for a moment, he’d be stuck, helpless forever.

Sirius slammed his fists against the locked door, his eyes screwed shut.

He hadn’t heard anything since he’d been jolted back into consciousness by the sound of a nearby door being slammed shut. The affinity his parents had for using silencing charms on closed doors always made him frantic beyond comprehension. But this . . . this time it was different. He was leagues beyond frantic.

Standing, legs shaking, head against his bedroom door, he tried to focus his thoughts, but his mind was blank.

Suddenly his panting hitched, eyes blowing wide in temporary relief. He couldn’t believe it had taken this long to think of it. Running over to his trunk, he tossed aside old books and clothes he hadn’t bothered to give to Kreacher until he spotted a glint of silver. His heart felt lighter and heavier at the same time as he withdrew the small knife and grabbed his wand off the floor.

Jamming the knife in the keyhole, he twisted until the door clicked open. With his wand in one hand and the knife in the other, Sirius crossed the narrow, dark hallway, not bothering to check the shadows as he normally would. In the distance, angry voices were pushing their way up the stairs.

‘Lyra!’ He banged on the door that faced his own as hard as he could. It didn’t move an inch. There was nothing but silence on the other side. Sirius shoved the knife into the door’s keyhole, rushing into the room as soon as it swung open.

His vision had distorted into one great, blurred scene, like a painting that’s colours had bled together. Then the colours came into gruesome focus.

Lyra on the polished brown floor, white skin, black hair and red . . . so much red, everywhere . . . There was red pooling on the floor around her, staining her hands, soaking through the front of her shirt. But where there was a river of red, there was also far too much white when Sirius looked at her face.

Knife falling from his hand, Sirius dropped to her side. Her face was unmoving and slick with sweat. Sirius gripped her chin. ‘Lyra! Lyra, can you hear me?’ She didn’t even flinch.

He looked around the room, the bookshelf had great chunks of wood missing, books lay scattered and singed around the room. Her eagle feathered quill and ink set had been knocked onto the bed, the dark ink slashing through the white bedding. The lamp that normally sat atop her nightstand lay in pieces on the floor, glass like pebbles on the wood.

‘That’s it,’ Sirius said to himself through a painfully clenched jaw, ‘we’re leaving.’

With a flick of his wand, everything of importance that hadn’t been destroyed flew into Lyra’s open trunk. Clothes sailed from the wardrobe, parchment folded themselves in two and waited till last to place themselves on top. From somewhere in the depths of her desk, Lyra’s vine and dragon heartstring wand emerged and raced across the room and packing itself in the open trunk.

Sirius quickly scanned her over again. There were dark red and purple bruises around her neck, a long cut tore down the length of her left arm, the skin there shredded and ripped open, it was steadily oozing dark, thick blood. Sirius stopped and outright balked when he reached her stomach, where the blood was heaviest. Quickly grabbing a thin blanket off the end of the bed, he tied it tightly around her middle.

With one last tug, he flicked his wand again and Lyra’s trunk closed and flew towards him, shrinking as it went. He caught it, stuffed it in his pocket and lifted his sister as carefully as he could off the bloodied floor. Her head lolled against his chest.

He’d made it one step out of her room when a figure emerged from a doorway further down the hall.

‘Sirius! What’s going . . .’ Regulus stopped at the sight of his sister, of the blood covering her and now seeping into Sirius’ own shirt. His eyes widened, colour draining from his face. ‘What happened!?’

Sirius ignored him. He didn’t have time for anyone’s false concerns. He placed Lyra down on his bed as gently as he could before flicking his wand, this time _his_ belongings were flying around the room, placing themselves haphazardly into his trunk.

‘She’s hurt!’ Regulus had followed them into Sirius’ room and came to hover at Sirius’ bedside. He only looked around the room when one of Sirius’ books hit his leg on its way to the trunk. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like?’ Sirius growled as he went over to his desk, searching through the drawers.

The only thing he could hear was his blood rushing through his veins. He could almost swear its rapid rhythm was screaming _not long, not long, not long_. Not long now and they’d both be free. But first he had to find – ha! He grabbed the folded bit of parchment from the desk’s middle drawer and stowed it deep into his back pocket.

Regulus’ ramblings had remained a constant splutter in the background.

‘But – But you can’t!’

The trunk in the corner clicked shut, shrank, and flew into Sirius’ open hand. He hastily shoved it into his pocket besides Lyra’s. By the time he turned back to the bed, Regulus’ voice had grown considerably more desperate.

‘Sirius, you can’t!’ Regulus went to block Sirius’ path. Sirius grabbed onto the younger boy’s shirt collar, pulling him in so that he could see the panic clearly in his eyes, their noses a hairsbreadth away from touching.

‘What can’t I do Regulus!?’ Sirius growled, angry red sparks spitting from his wand’s tip at his side. ‘Because what I _can’t_ do any longer is to stay in this – this _house_ and watch her get killed.’ He pushed his younger brother away roughly, Regulus’ back hitting the wall. Sirius turned, stuffed his wand into his back pocket and lifted his sister off the bed. ‘We’re leaving,’ he snarled as he passed a stunned looking Regulus.

The walk down to the ground floor was the longest journey of Sirius’ life. He tried to keep to the shadows as much as he could and paused every time he heard so much as a creak of a floorboard.

The shouting match he’d heard before was still being fought. He could only distinguish phrases, most of them in his mother’s high-pitched shrill shrieking voice.

_‘Do you realise what you’ve done?! . . .You weren’t meant to hurt her!’_

And to what normally would have been his surprise, had it not been for his un-ending shock, Sirius heard his father shout back.

_‘Not even that strong! . . . She’s unnatural! . . . This is all your doing!’_

Sirius started to breathe a little easier when he entered the entrance hall and caught sight of the front door. It was enough to drown out all other sights and sounds.

_Not long. Not long. Not long._

He was mere feet from the door – from freedom – when a flash of purple light soared past his head, catching the lantern hanging on the wall beside the door. It exploded, glass spraying everywhere.

Sirius ducked as another stream of light narrowly missed him. He shut his eyes briefly as the sound of wood splintering detonated through the hall.

‘How dare you try to sneak out of this house!’ Walburga Black’s shrieked, demonic as she hurled curse after curse at her son.

His back now to the door, Sirius had no choice but to avoid his mother’s onslaught. Both his hands were busy keeping Lyra close to him – her face becoming paler with every passing second. Sirius flinched as a picture frame hanging next to him exploded. A shard of glass caught his top lip, the taste of blood flooding his mouth.

‘How dare you try to smuggle _her_ out with you!’ Walburga’s advances were coming dangerously fast now. Sirius barely had time to react as he ducked, swerved, and flinched away from the barrage of curses. ‘Orion, he’s taking her!’

Sirius felt his heart stumble when his back slammed into the door, the handle digging into his spine. His mind whirled at what he was about to do, but with his mother’s infuriated cries in front of him, her curses flying around him and his freedom now firmly behind him, he had no other choice. Walburga was getting ready for another attack when Sirius quickly turned around and fumbled with the door handle.

The air that hit his face almost made him let out a victory cry. He only caught a glimpse of dark night’s sky and the glowing lampposts beyond before he let out a strangled cry. His legs almost gave way as a fiery pain tore down the back of his leg.

With the last shred of strength, he turned on the spot. The last things he recognised before he was sucked into the tunnel of apparition was his mother’s voice, disinheriting her eldest children, the pain in his leg and the broken, white and red girl in his arms.

And then there was nothing . . . nothing but the sound of a symphony of hidden crickets, the smell of smoke form countless chimney tops. As soon as his head stopped spinning enough so he could stand without swaying, he faced the house, adorned with Christmas lights, glinting happily into the night.

‘James! James! James!’ He screamed and screamed and screamed until the front door opened. James and Remus stood on the threshold, wands alight and lifted at the ready in front of them.

They were by his side in a heartbeat, Remus taking Lyra as Sirius fell, the pain in his leg and the exhaustion over what had just happened, finally overwhelming him. James grabbed Sirius by the waist before he had a chance to hit the cement. The Black twins were quickly ushered inside and had barely made it two feet into the house before Mr and Mrs Potter appeared, dressed in pyjamas and hastily thrown on dressing gowns.

Euphemia and Fleamont only allowed themselves a moment’s horror. They’d deal with that later. They directed the teenagers into the lounge room. Sirius, who had been leaning heavily into James, flung himself into the first chair he saw. Euphemia quickly dropped to her knees and set to work inspecting his leg which was now drenched in thick, dark blood.

‘James, go get the medipak and your fathers potion case. Quickly!’

James nodded running from the room.

Sirius fidgeted in the seat, trying to look at Lyra over Euphemia’s shoulder. Remus had placed her on the lounge, Fleamont hovering over her, removing the scarf from her middle and almost blanching when fresh blood spilled out over her already soaked shirt. Mr Potter was a fine potion master, but he was no Healer. Sirius stomach roiled.

‘Hold still, dear,’ said Euphemia firmly, holding Sirius to the chair with surprising strength.

James ran back into the room, handing the medipak and his father’s briefcase to Euphemia. She went straight for the briefcase, flinging it open and rifling through the glass vials, all the while keeping a strong grip on Sirius’ feet.

Sirius would’ve sat still if Fleamont hadn’t let out a strangled, infuriated growl. ‘That insidious bastard!’

Sirius went to stand but yelped, his leg instantly collapsing under the pressure.

Fleamont had cut through Lyra’s shirt and exposed her stomach. Three long, thick, impossibly deep slashes tore through her flesh. Sirius couldn’t distinguish wound from skin.

‘What’s wrong?’ Euphemia’s voice was no longer firm but urgent. Sirius tried to ignore the sliver of panic that made her words wobble ever so slightly.

‘He’s used Dark Magic on his own daughter!’

Sirius caught James’ eye. He had never seen his friend looking so scared, so unsure. He stood beside his kneeling mother, looking from her, to Sirius, to Fleamont, and back again. Remus however was fixed on one thing and one thing only. His grip on Lyra’s hand visibly tightened as she suddenly stirred and started screaming in agony – a strangled cry that pierced Sirius like a twisting knife through the heart.

‘Mia! I need your help!’ Fleamont yelled over the screaming. ‘He’s tricked it.’ He told his wife as she appeared by his side, leaving Sirius stranded in the armchair. ‘Every time I try to seal the wound it works itself deeper.’

It took almost two hours . . . two hours for Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, two fully grown wizards to stifle the bleeding coming from the wounds across Lyra’s stomach. It was a crude patch up job, but the Dark Magic, used by an even darker man, was not easily undone.

After every passing minute, Sirius felt the weight in his chest grow. He was certain that if he just got to Lyra then it would go away. If he just got to her then this nightmare would be over, he’d wake up panting in his bed at the Potters, slick with sweat, a pounding headache the only reminder of this god-damned nightmare.

Sirius noticed every beat of his heart throughout that unearthly long night – how each one was like a warning that the next one would never come.

He watched every breath his sister took, fearing the same warning was true for her. He flinched through every one of her long screams and heaved a long sigh after each one had ended.

He kept an eye on James who looked ready to faint at the sight of his bruised, bloodied and tortured friends, but whose eyes shone with undisguised admiration as he watched his parents work in complete harmony.

And Sirius watched on as Remus gripped Lyra’s hand, muttering for her to hold on, to hold on just a little longer.

Remus never looked at anyone else.

‘Did either of you know?’

Mr Potter’s voice wadded, muffled and sluggish to Remus, as if he were underwater.

Looking across to James, Remus wasn’t sure the bespectacled boy was capable of speaking. He wasn’t sure _he_ was either. All Remus’ muscles, bones, innards, and everything else that used to be there seemed to have vanished. Merely thinking about talking was exhausting.

‘Not this much,’ James croaked, swallowing thickly before taking another sip of his Firewhiskey.

Remus had followed James into Mr Potter’s work room twenty minutes ago. Potions bubbled away on a work bench in the left corner of the room, some emitting strange odours in swirls of steam.

Without saying a word to each other, both boys, blood still drying on their clothes, walked over to the desk in front of the window on the right. James had gone straight to the tall bookshelf and found an old and battered tome. He gently placed it on its side. The book grew until it took up the entire corner of the shelf on which it sat. A handle had grown where the title used to be and James opened the newly formed case, extracting a bottle of Firewhiskey from its depths.

While James had been by the bookshelf, Remus had headed for Mr Potter’s desk. Normally he wouldn’t dare rifle through the man’s belongings but being numb had left manners by the wayside. Remus found the crystal tumblers in the bottom draw, put them on the desk and fell back into a chair.

Once James had poured a decent amount of Firewhiskey into the tumblers, taking one for himself and pressing the other into his friend’s hand, he fell into his own chair.

James’ parents joined them a while later, silently pouring themselves each a glass before lowering themselves into the two remaining chairs around the table. If it were possible, the silence seemed to deepen further, like an impenetrable fog.

A fog that had now started to lift with Mr Potter’s question. Processing James’ answer, Remus nodded in agreement. Between Sirius’ sarcasm and Lyra’s shrugs, none of them had realised that the twin’s home life had become this bad.

Ever since the twins had received that howler after they were sorted into Gryffindor, Remus and the others had been wary about the Black family. But both Sirius and Lyra had always scoffed at the idea of sharing the wariness.

They all knew that, given the choice, Sirius and Lyra would have rather spent their time at the Potters when not at Hogwarts. Well, Sirius at least, Lyra wouldn’t really have cared either way if he were being honest. But Remus had always thought that, if they stuck together, then they would be okay, they would be safe.

What an idiot he’d been.

Fleamont rubbed his wrinkled, pale face. The time for urgency and adrenaline had passed, now it was worry and fears turn to infest their minds.

Remus desperately wanted to ask the question that had slowly become his new mantra. Still, he found he couldn’t open his mouth long enough to do anything other than take another shaky sip from his glass. And he didn’t know whether to tense or to relax when James voiced that mantra.

‘How bad . . .’ He trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish.

Euphemia shuffled slightly in her seat. She gave a short, soft sigh before leaning forwards, looking firmly between the two boys. ‘I’m not going to lie to either of you. If the last few hours have proved anything to me, it’s that both of you can handle the reality of this.’

Remus’ chest squeezed painfully.

‘They’re both stable. We’ve managed to heal most of Sirius’ wounds, the bruise salve is already working. We’ve given them both blood replenishing potions . . . But Lyra’s condition is considerably more critical.’

She looked out into the hall for a moment before addressing them again. ‘I’m hoping that she’s on the road to recovery, but if not then we know some Healers who may be able to help.’

James caught Remus’ eye briefly. They both hoped that it would not be necessary to get more people involved. Lyra would be furious if she ever found out.

As Euphemia turned back to the room, the deep frown on her lined face melted slightly.

‘They _will_ recover,’ she assured them. ‘But Lyra may have a tough recovery.’ Her throat bobbed, the only sign of difficulty on her end. ‘Dark Magic isn’t exactly designed for quick healing.’

_Lyra, Lyra, Lyra._

The words, that tragic melody that had been ringing through Remus’ head ever since the twins had shown up in front of the house, had returned. And it was deafening.

No matter how much Remus thought he’d prepared himself for all the realities of life, nothing could have prepared him for hearing the desperate, harrowing way in which Sirius had called for James. And nothing, _nothing_ could have prepared him for the sight that met them.

Blood, there had been so much blood. Remus was used to blood, from him and occasionally from the other Marauders. But not this much, not the amount that had painted Sirius’ right leg, that oozed in thick coats from the jagged gash that tore down its length. But even that amount was nothing compared to the amount coming from what Sirius held in his shaking arms.

Lyra.

The name pounded through his head, a heartbeat pummelling at a terrifying pace.

_Lyra, Lyra, Lyra._

The next hours were a blur. A slow-motion tumult of painful cries, hurried voices, curses, shouts and tears.

Time ceased to exist. One second, he had been taking Lyra from Sirius in the sunlight as the boy collapsed against James’ shoulder, the next thing he was carrying her again, this time guided by Mrs Potter as Remus brought Lyra to the guest bedroom.

_Lyra, Lyra, Lyra._

Mrs Potter had gently removed Lyra’s blood-soaked clothes, exchanging them for clean, fresh pyjamas with a flick of her wand. She, with the help of Remus, had tucked Lyra into the bed, lifting the covers around the girl, placing her injured arms on top. Euphemia had brought Fleamont’s potion briefcase in with her. She pulled out some vials, and poured potion after potion of blood-replenishers, dreamless slumber, and skelegrows down Lyra’s throat. Remus held Lyra slightly off her pillow, balking after seeing every potion. He placed Lyra back down so Mrs Potter could apply bruise salve to Lyra’s neck and face.

As she passed, Euphemia placed a consoling hand on Remus’ arm. Or it would have been if he’d noticed it.

She was too quiet, too still. Remus longed for her to say something, do anything. Because then he’d know she was alright, he’d know that he was worrying for no reason. ‘As per usual,’ she would say. But she just lay there, impossibly pale, on the bed, the flicker of a nearby flame the only thing moving. He didn’t know how long he stood over her, watching, waiting.

_Lyra, Lyra_ . . .

‘For Merlin’s sake, Sirius!’

Sirius?

It was like being dowsed in a bucket of iced water, it ran through Remus’ skin, strangling his insides.

His feet rushed him numbly back into the Potter’s sitting room.

Sirius, colourless and sweaty, struggled in the armchair he had fallen into when he’d arrived.

James and Fleamont had hold of Sirius’ shoulders pushing the boy back down in the seat. Remus could do nothing but watch on in horror.

‘It’s okay, Sirius! Lyra’s okay!’ James said through clenched teeth, all his remaining energy going in to keeping Sirius in the chair.

‘Like hell she is!’ Sirius’ voice had been terrifying. Normally Sirius strutted through life unperturbed, joking at even the most severe things. But the hoarse, hollow growl that came from him now did nothing to melt the ice pounding through Remus’ veins.

‘Hold him still, Monty!’

Mrs Potter knelt on the floor by Sirius’ feet. She held her wand out steady, ducking and weaving, trying to get to the gaping wound running the length of Sirius’ leg. But Sirius was outright thrashing now, and the elderly witch only had so much strength left in her.

Remus hadn’t even noticed that Mr Potter had moved away from Sirius until a flash of red light hit Sirius squarely in the chest and the boy slumped, unconscious, his head lolling to the side.

James had let go of Sirius as soon as he saw the stunner coming. He gave Remus a terrified look, shiny with worry and fear, whilst Mrs Potter huffed out a ‘thank you, dear’ to her husband.

Euphemia and Fleamont had then set about fixing Sirius’ wounds. The leg wound took top priority but there was plenty else to occupy them, the least of all was a nasty purple bruise on the side of the boy’s head.

Dazed and unfocussed, James left the room in silence. Remus followed behind him into Fleamont’s study.


	4. Chapter 3

## Chapter Three

He knew it hadn’t been a dream because the first thing he felt was a warming sense of calm. He was wrapped up in it. He was floating on the calmest waters, heated by the afternoon sun. He never wanted to leave this space. The calm lapped around him, soothing the deepest parts of himself, parts he seemed to remember being worn and battered, bruised and sore. No, he would stay here forever, not moving for fear of disturbing the peace.

He also knew it hadn’t been a dream because the lulling sense of safety was slowly fading, the sun was setting, and the towering waves of reality were crashing towards him. And just like that, the peace ended with softly spoken words.

‘I’ve contacted Montgomery.’

‘Head of the Department of Law Enforcement?’

‘There’s nothing he can do.’ The tired voice of Fleamont Potter wrung though Sirius, the man might as well have been yelling instead of murmuring.

Keeping his eyes closed, Sirius heard Mrs Potter’s scoff. Her voice sounded further away than her husband’s, as if she were on the other side of the room. ‘Ridiculous,’ she muttered. ‘Well there’s no way they’re going back there to those – those people!’

Sirius felt a sliver of warmth return at the caring in the woman’s voice. It grew as Mr Potter’s heartily agreed.

There was a moment’s silence. Sirius was about to try surrendering to sleep once more until Fleamont’s sombre voice cut through it.

‘How’s she doing?’

He had to fight the instinct to open his eyes and demand the question be answered immediately.

‘I can’t understand it. She is healing faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. I mean, I was expecting this cut on her arm to take days to heal!’

‘What have you been using on it?’

‘The salve you recommended,’ Mrs Potter said. ‘I know you designed it to be strong, but I used it on Sirius’ leg and that’s not healing nearly as quick as _her_ wounds are.’

The fog in Sirius’ mind was quickly retreating and he was certain he knew what salve they were talking about.

Mr Potter, although having long since stopped creating potions for mass production, still dabbled in creating new concoctions. The salve that Mrs Potter was, no doubt, using for their wounds was one he had made specially for Remus when they’d found out about the boy’s affliction. Remus had been speechless when the Potter’s had subtly handed it to him while talking to his parents on Platform 9¾ at the end of fifth year, explaining that it would help with any scratches he may find himself with after the ‘bad nights’.

‘So, what do you make of it?’

Sirius tried not to stir. At the mention of his leg, it had started to throb, as if demanding he remember what had happened the night before.

‘I can’t be sure,’ Mrs Potter sighed. ‘Perhaps the original wound wasn’t as bad as we thought. The wound on Sirius’ leg was caused by a slicing curse. Magic might not have caused the cut on her arm.’ Her voice had dwindled into uncertainty, her words being carried on an undercurrent of frustration.

Good, Sirius thought, let them guess. In the past he’d considered confiding in the Potter’s about a lot of things; his parents, his homelife. James and Sirius had even discussed whether they should tell them about Remus’ condition, which, thankfully they’d figured out for themselves eventually. But when it came to Lyra, he’d kept his mouth shut. If he told them anything, they would no doubt feel obliged to tell Dumbledore and then Lyra would most likely kill her twin the first chance she got. Sirius supressed a shudder at that particularly unpleasant yet realistic image.

‘Well, we know at least one of her wounds was caused by magic,’ Mr Potter said, voice strained, as if he were talking through clenched teeth.

A tense silence bore its way into Sirius’ gut, twisting it as his heart raced to life with pounding fury.

_He’s used Dark Magic on his own daughter!_

Those words would stay with Sirius forever, forever stoking the promise he’d recently made to make his parents pay for what they’d done to her.

Mrs Potter hummed in agreement. ‘Unfortunately, _those_ wounds are being a great deal more stubborn.’ There was a rustling sound which could have been the turning down of bedding. Sirius tried to picture what was happening, perhaps Mrs Potter had pulled down the blankets off Lyra to inspect her stomach. More than anything, he wanted to open his eyes and peak a look, but for some reason, he didn’t want the fact that he was awake to be discovered just yet.

‘Do you think we should get Eleonor to come have a look?’

Sirius quickly wracked his brain, trying to remember if James had ever talked about an Eleonor. Anxiety flared as he remembered that Eleonor Samson was a friend of the Potters, a Healer who worked in the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo’s. For the second time since awaking, Sirius almost leapt from the bed in an outburst but was stopped before he could so much as move a muscle.

‘No, I don’t think that’s necessary.’

He almost heaved an audible sigh at Mrs Potter’s words.

‘With the rate she’s healing, I think it should be okay. I do think we should give her another blood replenishing potion however, and she’ll need to take some potions and the salve with her back to Hogwarts.’

There was more rustling followed by soft footsteps, and then silence. Sirius stayed still, making sure that they had left the room before slowly opening his eyes.

From behind his closed lids, he’d detected the sunlight that streamed through the window behind him. He didn’t know whether it was the morning or the afternoon, but he welcomed the sun’s light all the same. Shifting his leg, he winced at the tight pull coming from the back of it.

Drawing in a deep breath, he turned his head to the side. Laying in the bed across from his, bandaged arms resting on top of a thick white blanket, long black hair pulled to one side, neck slightly red, was the one thing that made all this worth it.

Smiling sadly, Sirius spoke into the silence. ‘Told you we’d get out of there eventually.’ Because they _were_ out. They had escaped and they’d never have to return. They were free.

They were free.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. He might have fallen back asleep at one stage, finally managing to ignore the throbbing in his leg, and the twisting in his stomach. It might have been minutes or hours before Remus and James quietly entered the room, grinning immediately upon seeing Sirius awake.

With some effort, Sirius managed to pull himself further up the bed with some help from James. When he was settled, nodding his thanks, James perched at the end of the bed.

Remus, after his initial acknowledgement of Sirius, headed straight for the other side of the room. He sat at the end of Lyra’s bed, taking inventory of her healing wounds and bruises. Just like the night before, Sirius was sure that Remus was oblivious to anything else.

That was until James heaved a sigh that ended with, ‘What the hell happened, Padfoot?’

For the next twenty minutes, Sirius told them everything that had happened, from what had been said during the dinner with the Rosier’s, to the fight he’d overhead between his parents, and finally to the attack that had caused them to flee. More than once, Sirius had to stop and let James vent his outrage with some rather colourful language which normally would have made Sirius smirk.

When he was finished, all three were silent, processing everything that had been said.

‘She was trying to rile Lyra up with whatever she could.’

Having finally caught up, James shook his head. ‘Yeah, by the sounds of it, she succeeded. What I want to know is how she knew about Remus.’

Sirius nodded. Apart from the professors, the Marauders, Lily, and Lyra, the only other person who knew that Remus was a werewolf was Snape, and he’d been sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore. Snape could have gone against Dumbledore’s orders, but he’d been threatened with expulsion if he ever did. Snivellus was stupid, but surely, he wasn’t that stupid.

‘Perhaps the Rosier’s have more friends within the Ministry than we thought,’ Sirius said, gritting his teeth at the thought.

Remus sighed deeply, not looking away from Lyra. Sirius found himself focussed on the way Remus’ hand had unconsciously moved to cover Lyra’s.

At first, the thought of Lyra and Remus being together had Sirius ready to punch the werewolf repeatedly, and then curse whatever was left of him. Until last night, it was the most furious he could ever remember being. Surprisingly, it was James who eventually demanded that he see reason, that he calm down and think about it more before knocking Remus out. That had just made Sirius angry with James as well as Remus. It had also, with time, had the desired effect. And while he would always feel slightly uncomfortable about the situation, Sirius knew that they complimented each other, as sickening as he found it sometimes.

‘Do you think the Ministry picked up on what happened?’

Sirius met James’ eye. That question had been one of many repeating itself in the back of Sirius’ mind ever since Lyra had lost control. He didn’t know how she’d managed it, but no one had realised what had happened to them.

‘The house is heavily protected, full of magical artefacts, not to mention it’s unplottable, if they did detect something, they wouldn’t be able to pin it to anyone or anything specific.’ At least he hoped so anyway. By the silence that settled over the others, they were no doubt contemplating the same, all shuddering to think what would happen if the Ministry were to become involved.

From the open window behind him, Sirius heard children laughing. Soft, cheery music played away in the background, perhaps from a wireless somewhere down the street. What little stomach he had left doubled in weight.

‘Some Christmas,’ he mumbled.

James scoffed. ‘Pfft, we can have Christmas any time. Besides,’ he said, rubbing his neck and looking sheepish, ‘now I have more time to get your present ready.’

Sirius didn’t miss the wary look Remus shot across the room and found himself grinning. Whatever had Remus looking like that was sure to be good.

Another brief bout of silence fell over the room, each boy consumed in their own thoughts. After five minutes of this, James let out a long breath.

‘Boy do we have a lot to fill Wormtail in on when we get back.’

There were a great many things Sirius liked about the Potter house. First of all, it was bright, open, with windows in every room, a sprawling backyard complete with a small quidditch field. Mrs Potter always said that herbology was her favourite subject when she went to Hogwarts, and it showed. There were flowers in every room, some so fragrant that you could smell them from outside, some that would hum and whistle a melodic tune when you walked by and some that were luminescent, lighting parts of the house at night better than any candle could.

And then there was the Potters themselves. Mr and Mrs Potter, while much older than his own parents, were as bright as the house they lived in. Sirius could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen them without a smile, even after receiving the worst reports from McGonagall about their antics at school. Their devotion to James was obvious. Sirius would never tell him this, but he’d always been rather envious of James for his relationship with his parents. They embarrassed him to no end, but at least what they felt for him had James going red from well-meaning mortification rather than anger, or injury.

Unfortunately, when Mr and Mrs Potter stepped into the room sometime later, they were more grim-faced than Sirius could ever remember seeing them.

James didn’t need to be told that his parents would like to talk to Sirius without an audience. He and Remus gave Sirius a quick nod and a promise to return later before leaving the room. And suddenly, with just him and the Potters, Sirius felt very nervous.

‘How are you feeling, Sirius?’ Mrs Potter asked, in her usual sweet voice. Without waiting for an answer, she sat next to him on the edge of his bed and started her inspection.

‘Uh, not bad,’ Sirius said. ‘Leg still twinges a bit.’

Mrs Potter nodded. ‘May I?’ She asked, pointing to his leg. Sirius nodded his permission and watched as she pulled back the covers and gently prompted him to bend his leg. He tried not to wince as he felt the tight skin stretch. It was the first proper look he’d had of the damage that had been done to him. The cut was still rather raw darkened around the edges, he could only imagine what it had looked like last night.

Mr Potter, still standing close to the door, watched as his wife applied the cold salve to the back of Sirius’ leg. Sirius instantly felt the pressure of the tight skin around the wound give a little.

After another moment, when she was satisfied, Mrs Potter left Sirius and moved to sit next to Lyra. Sirius watched as she applied the salve to Lyra’s left arm. He tried not to look like he’d noticed Mrs Potter’s confused expression when she realised that the bruises on Lyra’s neck had now completely disappeared. She’d moved onto uncovering Lyra’s midsection when Mr Potter stepped further into the room, softly clearing his throat to get Sirius’ attention.

He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, Sirius watched the lined face soften as Sirius met his eye.

‘We’re not going to ask you for an explanation, Sirius,’ he started. ‘We’re not going to ask why you chose to wait this long. I hope you always knew that you could come to us for help.’ It almost appeared as he was somewhat offended that Sirius had come to them as a seeming last resort. Mr Potter blinked the glint of hardness away and said, much more gently, ‘I’m glad you came to us, we are.’

Sirius couldn’t help but tense as he sensed a ‘but’ coming.

‘However,’ there it was, ‘there are some questions we need to ask you.’

Whatever small part of Sirius that wanted to protest was quickly silenced at the stern look on the older wizard’s face.

‘How often did your parents use the torture curse on you?’

Sirius blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, that had definitely not been it. Again, there was a small part of him that immediately wanted to scoff and say that such a thing happening was preposterous. If it had been anyone else asking the question, that’s exactly what he would have done.

‘How did you-?’

‘We noticed that you were both severely dehydrated when you came to us last night,’ Mrs Potter explained, not looking away from Lyra’s wounds. ‘A classic symptom of exposure to the Cruciatus.’

‘Right,’ Sirius muttered, trying not to squirm under Mr Potter’s expectant gaze. ‘They didn’t use it often,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean, they’d normally have to be pretty pissed to go that far.’ Realising what he’d said, he shot a sheepish look to Mr Potter, silently apologising for the language.

Mr Potter either didn’t notice, or didn’t care as he nodded slowly, no doubt filing away the information to work through later. ‘And you have a younger brother if I remember correctly, yes?’

At this, Sirius tried his hardest to keep the scowl off his face. From Mr Potter’s raised eyebrows, it was clear he’d failed in his attempt to do so.

‘Is he safe to remain with your parents?’

‘Perfectly safe,’ Sirius ground out. Regulus, the perfect son. His parents would never make a move against him. And with the amount of concern that Regulus had shown the twins over the years, or the lack thereof, he wasn’t exactly prepared to jump up in a flurry of worry for him.

He knew that Mr Potter wanted to ask him to elaborate, but sensing that he wouldn’t get much more information, he loosed a breath and looked around the room.

Sirius had already taken inventory of the room earlier when he’d woken up. Someone had taken off his clothes and jacket and placed them on the armchair that sat directly under the window. Both Lyra and he currently wore a set of pale blue, cotton pyjamas.

‘Did you bring anything else with you?’ Mr Potter asked.

‘I shrunk our trunks, they’re in my jacket pocket.’

‘What about Talons?’

‘We decided to leave her at Hogwarts over Christmas,’ Sirius said. ‘She likes being around the other owls.’

Again, Mr Potter nodded.

‘Well,’ Mrs Potter said, screwing the lid back on the jar of salve and making her way back over to Sirius. ‘You should be able to get up and start using that leg a bit more tomorrow.’

The most Sirius had been able to do since he woke up was to hobble to the bathroom, and even then, James had had to walk with him.

He looked across the room, almost too afraid to ask. Almost. ‘How is she?’

Mrs Potter’s smile faltered momentarily, recovering quickly. ‘She sustained more wounds than you, but I’m confident that she’ll be able to return to Hogwarts on the train with you and the others.’ It was an annoyingly vague answer, but one Sirius could live with. ‘She’s a strong girl,’ she said as a way of offering further reassurance.

Sirius scoffed internally. She had no idea.

Something had woken him up, slowly, so slowly in fact that he could no longer tell if he was dreaming or not. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed that the tip of his wand was lit. He was sure he’d extinguished it with nox before he’d fallen asleep. But there it was, shining away on the table beside him.

He sat bolt upright when the light suddenly went out. Reaching for his wand, he was a fingernails length away from it when it burst into light again.

And then suddenly the window behind him slammed opened, then slammed shut with a BANG. The frame groaned and shook in an unheard howling wind as the light from the lamps around the room started to flicker violently.

Sirius leapt from his bed as Lyra’s pained moans cut through the confusion. He threw himself down at her bedside, gripping her hands tightly. She’d started to toss, and with every shallow breath she drew, the lights flickered more violently, the rattling of the window becoming louder and louder.

‘Lyra!’ He called out to her. ‘Lyra wake up!’

And then there was silence, and darkness, leaving them in nothing but cold moonlight. And in the moonlight, he could see Lyra’s silver eyes staring up at him. He felt a pulse of panic when he noticed that the ring of silver that encased her irises, normally strangely bright and swirling, were now the dullest he’d ever seen them.

‘Sirius?’ She moaned, and just like that, her eyelids dropped. Sirius was afraid she’d passed out again until she shifted, opening her eyes, much more slowly this time. Her half-opened eyes flickered over the room that was bathed in blue moonlight, the space between her eyebrows pulling together as she did so. ‘Where are we?’ Her voice was so soft, so weak.

Sirius put a hand gently on her shoulder, trying to get her to stay still. ‘We’re at the Potters.’

She looked back to him, taking in his face with growing awareness. He held her wrist when it rose, her hands reaching for his face that he knew was still sporting a cut lip. ‘Don’t.’

‘But you’re hurt.’

‘And so are you.’

At his words, Lyra sunk further into the bed. Sirius placed her hand gently next to her.

‘Where does it hurt?’

Lyra groaned. ‘My middle, it’s killing me,’ she muttered.

Sirius nodded, not expecting anything else. ‘It’s alright. Get some rest, we’ll talk more later, okay?’

Lyra nodded, softly saying ‘alright’ and after a few moments she was still once more.

He couldn’t help but loose a sigh of relief into the stillness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And she's awake! Finally, right!?  
> This is going to be a lengthy story, but while the pace is a little slow right now, it will pick up eventually.  
> Thanks to everyone who's left kudos and please comment if you have anything to say, it really helps keep me motivated.  
> Till next time


	5. Chapter 4

## Chapter Four

He knelt next to her for a long time. It was almost as if she’d never woken up at all. She was completely still, features smooth and impassive. Reaching out for her hand, he noted that her skin was warm. If nothing else, that was a good sign.

With a sigh and a wince, he raised himself to his feet, hobbling over to his trunk, which had been restored to full size. After rummaging around, he extracted a pack of cigarettes and left the room.

It seemed to take him forever to make it outside, sitting on the ledge of their bedroom window, not wanting to get too far away unless she woke up again. Lighting the cigarette with his wand tip he couldn’t help but be grateful that he was so close when she’d woken up, and that it was extremely lucky timing that it had happened in the middle of the night.

He was also thankful that Mrs Potter hadn’t questioned him earlier that day when he’d told her that he’d rather stay close to Lyra as opposed to moving into a room of his own to see out the rest of his recovery. He didn’t doubt that she’d taken it on face value, that of course he wouldn’t want to leave Lyra’s side when she was still in critical condition, when she was still unconscious. And she wouldn’t have been wrong thinking that. Of course, Sirius wanted to stay close to his sister, she’d almost died for Merlin’s sake and of course he wanted to be there when she woke up, but what Mrs Potter didn’t realise was that that was much more of a need rather than a want.

The sound of the front door opening and closing was enough to make Sirius tense, he immediately dropped the cigarette, stamping it out, getting to ready to explain to Mr or Mrs Potter, or both, what he was doing sitting outside in the middle of the night. Thankfully, James’ face appeared seconds later, wand lighting his face. Sirius loosed a breath, reaching almost instinctively for another cigarette, holding one out for James as well.

For a while, neither said anything until James, leaning against the ledge, looked behind him through the window.

‘She awake yet?’

Sirius gave a nod, ‘A few minutes ago.’ Not missing the wary look James shot him, Sirius chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, the room’s still in one piece.’

‘Well that’s good,’ James said. ‘That would’ve taken some explaining, I reckon.’

After another moment’s silence, James pushed to his feet, gently slapping Sirius’ shoulder. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘It’s about time you saw your Christmas present,’ he added at the confused look Sirius shot him.

With what was the start of giddy anticipation, Sirius rose from the ledge and limped after James who had disappeared around the side of the house. He followed him until they reached the large shed in the backyard. James threw a smirk over his shoulder as he swung the doors open and revealed…

Nothing.

Sirius frowned. Apart from some quidditch broomsticks, a pile of old flowerpots, some broken and rusted cauldrons, and a long work bench laden with boxes labelled with different potion ingredients, there was nothing Sirius hadn’t seen before.

‘Uh, James?’

James quickly tutted him into silence as he moved to the back corner of the room, lighting some candles with a flick of his wand as he went. When he reached the empty back corner, James reached out and closed his hand over thin air, pulling it back to reveal.

Sirius felt his jaw drop. ‘Holy mother of Merlin, Prongs!’ Sirius breathed as he made his way to stand next to James whose grin had made the boys cheeks disappear.

It was glorious. It was just like the ones in the posters he had back in his room at Grimmauld Place, or in the magazines currently sitting in his trunk. Closing the distance, he ran his hand over the leather seat.

‘How – Where, where did you get it?’

James smirked somewhat sheepishly. ‘Some muggle down the street, sold it to me.’

At Sirius’ raised eyebrow, James snorted. ‘At least that’s what I told Lily.’

Sirius smirked in return, realising that “sold” most likely meant “stole”. Looking it over, he noticed some dials and buttons that he’d never seen in the muggle pictures.

‘I’ve been adding some stuff to it,’ James said. ‘Y’know, like a levitation charm, undetectable extension charm in the storage compartment, things like that.’

Sirius had to admit, he was impressed. ‘And Lily helped you with this?’

‘Well, she helped me with figuring out how it works – how the muggles use it. I didn’t mention the other stuff.’

They chuckled, both imagining Lily’s reaction when she realised that her boyfriend had been tampering with a muggle motorcycle.

‘Well, it’s perfect,’ Sirius said as James covered it again with the invisibility cloak. ‘Best Christmas present ever.’

James patted him on the back as they made their way back to the house. ‘What are you going to tell your parents when you take the cloak back to Hogwarts?’

James snorted. ‘Doesn’t matter. Told them it was broken, didn’t I. They don’t know the first thing about muggle transportation.’

‘Lyra’s gonna kill you, y’know,’ Sirius smirked.

At this, James’ grin slackened a little, making Sirius laugh, his first true laugh in days.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not gonna to tell her!’

oooOOOooo

_‘What did you say to me!’_

_Never before had Lyra seen her father so angry. He seemed to tower over everything and everyone in the small room, taking up every corner of it. She could feel his fury, igniting the tight air, it clawed at her throat and made her skin burn. His wand was held in a shaking, white-knuckle grip by his side, sparks spitting from its tip. A vein throbbing violently on his forehead._

_Lyra pleaded with Sirius to just, for once, keep his mouth shut, to not rise to the bait. Her throat constricted painfully, cutting off her cries, when Sirius stepped forward._

_‘You heard me, you crazed-’_

_With a deep growl, Orion Black seized Sirius shirt collar._

_‘No!’ Lyra tried to step in between them. She felt the tips of her fingers burn almost painfully as she balled them into fists, willing herself to calm for just a moment longer. She just needed to get to Sirius, if she could get to him, she could stop him, she could save him. Shrugging off the clawing grip of her mother, Lyra took another step towards Sirius._

_She didn’t see Orion’s fist coming as it hit her across the face. She hit the end of her bed frame with a cry as it caught her around the ribs, landing heavily on the wooden floor. She managed to shake the shock of the pain off in time to see Orion dragging Sirius towards the door without so much as a backwards glance._

_Lyra scrambled to her feet as Sirius started spitting curses, trying desperately to free himself. They were almost out of the room, Sirius flinging a hand out to grab hold of the door frame, twisting to look behind him. Stumbling dangerously, Lyra took a shaky step towards him, holding her hands out for his when she was caught from behind again, leaden arms tightening around her injured ribs._

_‘Sirius!’_

_Her mother’s strong grip around her middle jerked Lyra away from Sirius’ panicked face._

_And then Sirius was calling out her name, just as frantically as she was calling his._

_‘You’ve had this coming for a long time, boy!’ Orion snarled as he finally managed to tear Sirius from the door._

_With one more almighty heave, Lyra momentarily broke free of her mother’s hold. She only just managed to grab hold of Sirius’s hand for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough._

_The burning sensation that had been building within, burst free, boiling with a vengeance and rolled from her fingertips in warm, powerful waves into Sirius’ own hand._

_For a moment, time stopped as Sirius stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open as he shook his head ever so slightly at what she had just done. In return she managed to release a very watery, now very bloody smile that she hoped passed as a reassuring one. If it were possible, Sirius’ eyes widened more._

_‘No! Lyra!’_

_And then they were torn from each other, and Sirius was pulled, screaming Lyra’s name, from her room by their father whilst Lyra, sobbing, calling out to him, struggled in the vice-like grip of their mother. The feeling of a wand tip, scorching hot, pressing deep into the side of her neck had her stop struggling at once._

_She had one last glimpse of Sirius’ petrified face as he was thrown into his room before his bedroom door slammed shut, locking him and Orion inside._

ooOOoo

Remus rubbed his eyes, trying to relieve the stinging from another night of no sleep. Every time he’d closed his eyes, the image of a blood-drenched Lyra would flash before him. At one point he’d heard James and Sirius’ voices outside, but he was numb. His curiosity, along with every other positive feeling he’d ever felt, had shrunk in comparison to the gaping darkness that had filled him.

At some point he’d made his way downstairs and perched himself on the end of Lyra’s bed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting here, watching her, Sirius snoring lightly on the other side of the room.

The worry that had been in full burn over the last few hours was now a steady flame. Somewhere in the recesses of that darkness within him, anger had reared its head, growling into the gloom that had swallowed him whole. He was reminded, now more than ever before, the amazing capacity the Black twins seemed to have for evasion. He’d always known that they’d kept the true extent of the abuse they faced at home from the rest of them, no matter how much assurances were made by the others that they could help.

Between Sirius’ jokes and brooding demands for them to drop it, and Lyra’s soft scoffs and promises that the situation could be handled without them, Remus supposed that such a bloody ending had always been inevitable. But just because it may have already existed as a distant, distasteful possibility, didn’t mean that it was any easier to accept.

A shift in Sirius’ snores roused Remus from his lament. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Sirius begin to toss, forehead pinched and beaded with sweat, bedsheets starting to bunch around his waist. Remus was already halfway off Lyra’s bed to go wake Sirius up, when her breathing shifted. It was small, if it were anyone else sitting beside her, they wouldn’t have noticed. But Remus could tell, he knew her.

Her increased breathing, and Sirius’ thrashing only lasted a second before it broke. Sirius heaved into consciousness, gripping the sides of the bed with white knuckles, blinking rapidly around the room. It pulled Remus’ attention for the second time, away from Lyra. As Sirius took in the room, remembering where he was and everything that had happened, his eyes stopped, growing impossibly wider on a point next to Remus.

Remus new what that look meant and as he turned back, he found Lyra staring up at the ceiling, unblinking, her laboured breaths the only indicator that she, too, had startled into consciousness. The initial relief that flooded him, seeking to drown that darkness within him, at seeing her awake, quickly retreated as he looked at her eyes.

James had told him once that within Pureblood circles, there were rumours about the strange eyes of Lyra Black. These rumours, started mostly by young children – but not dissuaded by the adults – reached as far as the Potter’s ears, a family that would never claim to be traditional Purebloods or walk in their circles.

Some of the stories were ridiculous, that Lyra was medusa reborn, a basilisk personified, that if she looked you in the eyes, you would die instantly. Remus had snorted in amusement when he’d heard this. Although, as an afterthought, he admitted to himself that Lyra was intimidating enough to give this rumour some weight.

But other tales, whispered amongst some, most likely the reason that some of the younger students in the Great Hall would sometimes pay more attention to the Gryffindor table when Lyra would enter the room, were much harder to dismiss.

Yes, Lyra’s eyes were a thing of terrible beauty. Dark pupils encased by deep masses of constantly swirling shades of silver, they had the ability to hold whoever looked at them captive. But they were rarely seen by those she didn’t choose. Remus would always remember that it took years for him to finally see them properly.

But now, all he could think of was the way those irises swirled, rushing currents forever stuck in the pupil’s gravity, and how they had now seemed to slacken to a slow stream. They still held their usual captivating power, but it had been horrifyingly diminished.

Remus squeezed her hand. ‘Lyra?’

It took a moment, but finally she blinked, once. Twice. And then she looked at him. And smiled.

It was small, barely even pulling at the corners of her mouth, but it was there. And he answered with the biggest smile he could muster. And then the relief was back, in a crashing tidal wave that rushed through him, making his hold on her hand tighten.

ooOOoo

James joined them a short time later, the wide grin that broke out on his face upon seeing Lyra awake, made her feel a little more at ease. There would truly be something terribly wrong with the world if it no longer contained a grinning James Potter.

For a short time, everyone seemed to be content to be together, talking about nothing in particular. It was obvious to Lyra that the boys were making a conscious effort to keep the conversation light-hearted, flitting from who Gryffindor needed to beat to end up with the Quidditch Cup, to James’ recount of recently meeting Lily’s sister and her fiancé.

She groaned when he told them how it ended. If she closed her eyes, she could picture a sobbing Lily, face in her hands, elbows resting on the top of a restaurant table. There was no doubt that James, while somewhat remorseful, arm around his girlfriend, whispering apologies and pleas that they leave in her ear, would still be glancing back at the front door with a smirk at having upset the poor muggles. It made her want to laugh and scold him at the same time.

Their attempts to ease the tension of recent events worked to a point and Lyra was grateful for their efforts. But she knew how much Sirius wanted the others to leave so he could interrogate her about what happened. Knowing that it would be better to get it out of the way sooner rather than having the tension grow didn’t make her any more eager.

Since waking, after the initial shock and confusion wore off, anxiety had been rising like a pool of water in her chest. They were alone. They would never again walk through their parent’s house, no longer be forced to attend uncomfortable dinner parties and never again be forced to think about her future on her parent’s terms. She should be relieved; she and Sirius had managed to free themselves from a prison they’d been confined to their whole lives. And in a few days, they’d be back on the train to Hogwarts . . .

And just like that, the anxiety was on the rise again. And that wasn’t the only thing . . .

Grabbing a gentle hold of Remus’ arm, she pulled him closer. ‘Help me up?’ she tried to say as quietly as she could.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quiet enough. Sirius, who had returned to sit on the edge of his own bed after James had joined them shot to his feet, not even flinching as he automatically put weight on his bad leg.

‘Help?’ he said, looking from Lyra to Remus and back again. ‘What do you mean? What’s wrong?’

Lyra just barely supressing the urge to roll her eyes, gripped onto Remus tighter as she pushed the bedding away from her. ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she muttered, legs now free, Remus having helped her significantly as a tight pain flared with every movement.

Sirius frowned. ‘Help means that something’s wrong,’ he said fiercely. ‘Now what’s wrong? What do you need help with!’

‘I need to go to the bathroom!’ Lyra ground out, at the end of her tether and bladder now painfully full.

Sirius automatically made to cross the room. ‘Well, I can help –’

‘Remus will do fine,’ Lyra said, glaring at her brother now, liquid silver eyes picking up speed, a clear warning.

Having been on the receiving end of that particular look many times in his life, Sirius ignored her and shot his own warning look at Remus as the sandy haired boy helped Lyra slowly from the bed.

Remus, now having been on the receiving end of _Sirius’_ looks for long enough, raised his eyebrows in response, his way of helplessly saying ‘what you gonna do?’ without getting himself jinxed.

It took the two forever to leave the room, Sirius not sitting down until they had, watching and analysing every step Lyra made.

Everything hurt.

She’d placed her left arm on top of Remus’ right, who held it and her as steady as he could, supporting most of her by wrapping an arm around her waist. He had obviously known that her arm was injured. Unfortunately, she didn’t realise until they’d already started walking, by which point letting him go so he could support her from the other side was no longer an option. He was the only thing stopping her from falling flat on her face. But compared to the pain coming from her stomach, her arm was easy enough to ignore.

After what felt like an eternity, they made it to the bathroom, both of them letting out an inaudible sigh of relief as Remus pushed the door open. He hesitated on the threshold.

‘Do you need me to –’

Not helping the smirk from rising, Lyra patted his arm. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, placing a hand on the bathroom wall. Remus had almost completely let go of her when she stopped and turned as quickly as she could manage, leaning towards him and pressing her lips to his. It was a short and shallow thing, but it conveyed what she needed it to. She was here, and she was safe, and she’d be fine.

It took her a frustratingly long time to do something that would normally only take a matter of minutes. Suffice it to say, by the time she opened the bathroom door again to find Remus leant against the opposite wall waiting for her, she was decidedly more irritated then she had been before. She wasn’t used to feeling weak, being slow. She’d purposefully avoided looking in the mirror, not ready to face the truth of what had been done to her. What she could feel was more than enough at the moment.

The hobble back to the guest room had them passing the living room again, but this time she noticed the dressed-up tree in the corner.

Lyra frowned. ‘I thought you were spending Christmas with your parents?’

Despite not looking at him – eyes firmly planted on the floor which seemed to sway slightly – Lyra could perfectly picture the expression on Remus’ face as it morphed from surprise to stony.

‘Uh yeah,’ he said quickly. ‘Change of plans.’

Raising an eyebrow at his tone, Lyra chanced a glance at him. Just as she thought, his jaw was clenched, the muscles she could feel bellow her arm, tense. ‘Remus, I thought you were going to at least try and talk with him.’

‘Lyra, it’s fine,’ Remus started, no doubt about to repeat the same speech she’d heard a thousand times, but was cut off by a cry coming from the stairwell they’d just passed.

‘Lyra?!’ Rushing footfalls followed the outcry and suddenly Mrs Potter was standing in front of them, a most displeased frown on her face that had Lyra instinctively shrinking into Remus’ side, eyes quickly replanting themselves on the floor at her feet. ‘You really shouldn’t be out of bed! Remus, I thought you would have known better!’

Lyra had never heard the woman sounding so stern, sounding so, familiar. ‘Please, Mrs Potter, don’t blame him,’ she said, flicking her eyes briefly in the woman’s general direction, quickly trying to salvage the situation. ‘I just needed to use the bathroom.’

At the admission, Mrs Potter relented a fraction, shoulders dropping slightly. ‘Hmm, well you still shouldn’t be walking around, you’re still healing. Now quick, back to bed with you,’ she said, walking back to the guest room, waving them along. ‘And I insist you call me Mia,’ she called over her shoulder, her voice an interesting mixture of exasperation, geniality, and annoyance. ‘I may be old, but I’m not ancient.’

Remus and Lyra shared an amused look before continuing to the guest room.

ooOOoo

The rest of the day – much to Lyra’s growing resentment – was spent napping, the short trip to and from the bathroom apparently taking it out of her completely. She tried to hide from the others how much this fact got to her, trying instead to concentrate on everything Mr and Mrs Potter told her about the potions they’d had her on, and the salve that they’d been using.

But the thoughts that had grown in her mind whilst walking to the bathroom had festered into a slimy, dark root system that had taken hold, wrapping itself tightly around all parts of her, forcing her jaw to clench and her shoulders to ache with the strain of being held so taut.

And after everyone had gone to bed, after Mrs Potter had forced Lyra to eat a small helping of fruit salad, after Lyra convinced Remus that she’d still be there in the morning (both of them ignoring Sirius’ glare and James’ smirk as they gently hugged good night), after night had well and truly fallen, it was just Sirius and her. And she couldn’t avoid him anymore.

‘They could have killed you,’ Sirius ground out, sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows digging into his knees as he rubbed at his temples.

‘And they _would_ have killed you,’ Lyra replied in her own restrained tone.

Sirius pulled up. His jaw ticking as the image of Lyra breaking free of their mother’s hold and grabbing his hand flashed in his mind. He could still feel the heat that had washed through him at her touch and the horror he’d felt soon after when he realised what she’d done.

Shaking away the image, he looked at her. It would be easy to tell himself that she was still weak, that they shouldn’t be yelling at one another. But then she leaned forwards wincing as she did so, looking right into his eyes and he realised that she didn’t need to yell, she’d never needed to.

‘You cannot tell me that you would have done nothing . . . you cannot sit here and tell me that you wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing if you were me.’

His jaw clenched tighter. Cursing her logic, cursing the fact that she always seemed to get the upper hand in their arguments.

‘I didn’t think so,’ she said after a moment’s silence, leaning back into her pillows and closing her eyes.

Sirius closed his eyes too, lamenting the fact that he’d have to drop this particular subject for another time. But there was something else he might be able to win, something that had been gnawing away at him just as insistently. Opening his eyes, he looked about the room, his gaze catching on a small photograph, framed on the far wall. It was of a much younger Mr and Mrs Potter, twirling in front of a fountain, a small child, which he assumed was James, held between them. Sirius had never been more jealous of James than he had been over the last few days.

‘About dinner . . .’

Lyra sighed before he could say anything else. ‘Can’t we just drop it?’

‘No!’ Sirius blinked, surprised at the harshness he heard in his voice. Taking a second to compose himself, he turned to meet Lyra’s gleaming eyes.

‘You’re not going to ignore this one, Lyra. You can’t do that with everything you don’t like thinking about.’

Lyra clenching her jaw.

‘I apologise for what I did at dinner,’ Lyra said.

‘I’m not talking about what _you_ did!’

Lyra blinked across at him.

Sirius barely had time to register her confusion as he ploughed ahead. ‘There was more to that conversation than what was being said, and I know you know it too, there’s no point denying _that_.’

‘I’m not denying anything.’ She said slowly, making him feel like he was twelve years old again, listening to her lecture him about Regulus. Annoyance flared through him. ‘What are you hoping to learn from all this, anyway?’

There was a moments silence. They both knew why he was bringing it up. They both knew why he was interested and what it was he was hoping to learn. It was the same thing he’d wanted to know more about since they were seven years old.

She was being obtuse on purpose; she was deliberately trying to get him to say something she already knew. It was times like these that made it hard for him to ignore how perfect of a Slytherin fit she would have made. A fact that angered him even more than her tactics.

‘Just tell me that you’re not connecting any of this to those ridiculous rumours.’

Again, Sirius didn’t answer her.

Lyra groaned. ‘I will _never_ understand why you choose to be dragged into this . . . this nonsense!’

‘Well, you’ve got to admit that it would explain some things, though, wouldn’t it?’

He tried not to shrink under the weight of her stare, however brief it may have been before she looked away, shielding her eyes under their lids.

‘Look, we’ve been hearing this bullshit our whole lives. And I’m sick of hearing about it from people like the Rosiers,’ he sneered.

‘What’s your point!’ Lyra snapped.

‘My point is that I have every right and reason to go looking for answers, Lyra. They were obviously hiding something from us, and not just Mother and Father, but everyone that night, and everyone else, every time before that. And you can’t pretend it doesn’t have anything to do with us, not after this, not after what’s happened because of it.’

‘Have you ever stopped to consider the possibility that uncovering whatever it is that you think they’re hiding may do more harm than good? We are what we are Sirius, and whatever that is, maybe you should just accept it. Leave it in peace. Move on.’

Lyra levelled him with a look that made it clear that the conversation was now over, and this time when she closed her eyes, she had no intention of opening them again until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's checked out this story, it means a lot to me to know that people are enjoying it!  
> Despite the obvious stray from canon that I’ve taken with this fic, I am going to try and work in things from the HP books that I feel I could head-canon. I’ll be pointing them out as they pop up in chapters.  
> Till next time (where we’ll catch up with Regulus), stay safe, stay happy.


	6. Chapter 5

## Chapter Five

He looked around the room, cataloguing all the faces he could see, and all the figures whose cloaks, shawls, or masks made doing so impossible. He didn’t know why he was looking for _them_. There was almost no possibility that they would venture out into Diagon Alley, and even if they had reason to, the possibility of them making their presence known to him was even slimer – well Sirius would have wanted to, but Lyra would have held him back. Despite this, something in the far reaches of his mind, a hook that he couldn’t shake off, whispered that they could be here. They could be in this room right now, watching him, observing him, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

Another quick sweep of the bar, the tables, the entrances, reminded him just how absurd he was being. They weren’t there. The only people here who had any relevance to him was the one he sat across from, and the one who was crossing the room towards them, three glasses filled with amber liquid hovering alongside them.

Regulus blinked away his distracting thoughts as Lucius Malfoy slid into the opposite seat, using his wand to direct the glasses to their consumers. Regulus didn’t know if he wanted to gulp the liquid all at once, or if he was feeling too sick to drink it at all. He opted not to pick up the glass, instead watching as Lucius pocketed his wand and took a short sip from his own glass. Regulus was trying to avoid looking at the third occupant at the table, who sat beside Lucius, and who had been glaring at him ever since he arrived.

After a moment it was clear that it was Regulus who was expected to speak first. Mouth dry, he asked the one thing he’d most wanted an answer to for the past three days.

‘Is he mad?’

A single pale eyebrow on Malfoy’s pointed face rose. ‘He is displeased.’

Inwardly, Regulus flinched, translating the words to mean, he’s pissed. Not exactly the first impression he had wanted to make. He wanted to try and make them see that what happened was completely out of his control. He wouldn’t have been able to stop Sirius leaving the house, and the world would truly have had to end for him to leave Lyra behind. Trying to keep his face as impassive as he could, Regulus fought to supress the image of his bloodied and broken sister on Sirius’ bed. He wasn’t going to try and convince the two sitting across from him of his faultlessness, and he most definitely was never going to admit to anyone that there was some part of him that was glad Sirius took her. His biggest hope now was that she was recovering.

Well that and staying in the favour of the Dark Lord.

‘It’s going to be harder for you now. You know that, don’t you,’ came the teasing voice he had hoped not to hear tonight.

No longer able to ignore her presence, Regulus looked towards his cousin. Her dark lidded eyes narrowed as she took him in, her top lip hooked in an almost permanent sneer.

‘If you thought your place among us was assured, that it was going to be easy, then it just got considerably more difficult,’ she said, ignoring Lucius’ warning hiss as he cast a quick glance around the Leaky Cauldron. No one had even turned their head in the trio’s direction, thanks in no small part to the privacy charms Bellatrix had cast when she’d arrived. Obviously having faith in her own magic, Bellatrix ignored the Malfoy heir entirely. ‘You must be prepared to prove yourself.’

The weight of her words sunk into him as he finally took a sip from his glass, barely feeling the way the liquid burned his throat slightly as he swallowed it. He needed to prove that he was still a Black, now heir to an ancient and noble house, a family of the Sacred 28. He needed to prove that he would not stray like his brother and that he would never have the desire to do so. He needed to prove that he was incorruptible, unlike his sister who had always blindly followed her twin even to the point of damnation.

A hunger welled up in him, coating his tongue and mouth, to do all this and more before the face of the Dark Lord. He would prove to the world that not all the Blacks were quitters, that some remained strong, pure, true.

Placing the glass back on the table, Regulus gave a firm nod. ‘I’m ready.’

Bellatrix scoffed and went to speak but Lucius was quicker.

‘That isn’t for you to decide.’ Knocking back the rest of his drink, Lucius stood. ‘We’ll be in touch,’ was all he said before stepping back and allowing his sister-in-law to slide out of the booth.

Regulus looked straight ahead as they left, trying to ignore the way in which Bellatrix’s eyes had followed every move he’d made, the way her top lip pulled up ever so slightly higher as she shot him one last glare before she turned on her heel and strutted away from him. He’d heard rumours that she was being personally trained by the Dark Lord himself. That news sent a shiver through him that was part jealousy, part admiration and part horror. Whatever they asked him to do, he’d do it, if for nothing else, just to keep on her good side.

A surge of high-pitched laughter forced him out of his reverie. He followed the sound to a group of girls, a little younger than himself, walking through the pub on the way to Diagon Alley. Frowning, he remembered that he’d be returning to Hogwarts tomorrow. He’d be going back to Platform 9 ¾ and it was the thought of who else would be there that was now making his stomach turn.

Looking away from the girls, he gulped down the rest of the whiskey and left.

ooOOoo

She stood still amongst the chaos, head down, eyes closed, heavy hooded cloak rapped around her. She was surrounded by noise and smoke and an excited energy that made the very air sizzle and pulse. The world had become a muffled chorus of deafening confusion. A whistle blew again and even though it had been ringing out frequently for the past ten minutes, it still made her flinch.

She knew that any sign of discomfort on her part would make Mr and Mrs Potter worry more than already were. Be that as it may, she just couldn’t get her shoulders to relax, they had tensed to the point of becoming painful, her fists gripped so tight that she wouldn’t be surprised if her nails had torn through flesh.

And she knew it wasn’t her normal level of discomfort from being here, on this platform, around so many people, the promise of returning to Hogwarts standing before them in all it’s gleaming scarlet glory. There were more layers to it this time. Perhaps it was the fact that this was the last time she’d be here, boarding the train from this end – although that thought did send a rush of relief, dare she say it, elation through her rather than discomfort. Perhaps it was the fact that she hadn’t completely healed yet – a fact that that still irritated her.

She’d finally forced herself to look in the Potter’s guest bathroom mirror yesterday. She was met with a sight that made her pale in horror and anger, and that made the mirror give a horrified shriek, which had only soured her mood further. While Mrs Potter was beside herself over her rapid recovery, Lyra herself was somewhat less than impressed that she still wasn’t back to normal.

No, perhaps the reason for her current anxiety were the three sets of eyes currently burning holes in her back. Without even looking she knew _exactly_ where they stood. The intensity of their glares made the side of her neck itch.

She wished the others would hurry up.

The Potter’s were still behind her, playing out their roles of a happy family. Mrs Potter was attempting to flatten James’ hair – a task she had long recognised as being an entirely futile one. Sirius was standing next to his friend in throws of laughter, either ignoring or oblivious to his family’s presence across the platform. The ease at which he accomplished either of those made Lyra’s fists tighten further.

Feeling claustrophobic as it was, she stilled entirely when someone moved to stand close by her side. That was until she felt fingers reach out and brush gently against her own. As soon as she felt the calloused skin, her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

After a moment the steam engine let out one last long, blaring whistle.

Lyra opened her eyes slowly and looked across to find Remus already watching her.

He raised his eyebrows. _Ready?_

Lyra breathed deeply, turned back to the train and nodded once. _Ready._

She never looked behind her to see her parent’s hard faces as Remus stepped onto the train first, looking behind him to wave briefly to Mr and Mrs Potter.

They probably thought Lyra rude for not extending the same courtesy, but she couldn’t. If she looked back and caught sight of _them_ , she didn’t know what she’d do. It was tempting though, the urge to turn as she ascended the train steps grew like quickly rising lava through her veins. Just as the molten river was threatening to drown her whole, she felt a hand on her back.

And just like that the river receded, the lava disintegrated. Cool, cleansing water flooded through her and for a moment she felt like she could take in a lungful of much needed air.

When she was standing in the train corridor, the hand left her. Sirius, James and Remus stood with her for a second as the train lurched into motion, they waved out the closest window to Mr and Mrs Potter. After the elderly couple disappeared from view, the boys turned and started down the corridor to the compartment they’d put their trunks in earlier. When they noticed that Lyra wasn’t following them, they stopped, turning to throw her questioning looks.

‘I’m going to find the others,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

James and Remus gave shallow nods, hesitating but accepting her reasoning. Sirius paused for a moment longer, studying her. At her raised eyebrow, a silent demand for him to speak or leave, he finally relented and gave his own stiff nod, following the others down the corridor.

Normally, once Lyra was on board the Hogwarts Express, she’d find a compartment in a quiet part of the train and wait there, letting her friends come to her. And if she hadn’t just spent the better part of a week living under the same roof as the three boys she’d just left, she would have followed them. But the need to see some other familiar faces outweighed her discomfort of travelling through the train while so many people weaved in and out of compartments, ran up and down corridors, squealing with excitement and holding too-loud conversations.

It took the next five minutes of her attempting to ignore the movement of the train – it’s vibrations and jolts travelling straight to the wounds on her stomach – for her to locate the compartment which housed her friends. She slid open the door to reveal three girls, all of whom screamed in delight when they saw her in the doorway.

Mary McDonald, Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans leapt to their feet, instantly moving towards their dormmate. Lyra couldn’t help but wince at the thought of being tackled by her friends. The look on her face must have reminded them that she was still healing, because they stopped and one-by-one, gave her a gentle hug before allowing her to take a seat.

‘How did you know?’ Lyra said, frowning lightly as she quickly glanced around the compartment.

Lily gave a sheepish smile. ‘James wrote me,’ she admitted. ‘He was really worried about you and Sirius. I thought it best to tell Mary and Marlene.’

Lyra nodded. She couldn’t hold it against James for telling his girlfriend something that was troubling him, actually it gave her hope over his ever-growing emotional maturity – a feat she gave Lily complete credit for.

And Lily’s decision to tell the others wasn’t something Lyra could hold against her either. Their knowing would no doubt make her life easier. The pummelling of well-meaning bodies she’d just avoided being a prime example.

‘How-how are you?’ Mary asked in her soft voice.

Lyra forced a closed-lip smile onto her face. ‘I’m okay.’

‘Really?’ Marlene asked, pessimism colouring her tone.

‘Yes, really. Mrs Potter gave me some supplies, and a schedule of potions I have to keep up for the next week or two, but I really am okay.’

She could tell that they weren’t convinced. But they didn’t say anything else.

This show of concerned affection left Lyra somewhat embarrassed. Save for Marlene, she’d never been particularly close to her dormmates. They’d hold conversations and share in the odd joke, of course, but they’d always kept the topics of their discussions light, often school-related, never delving too deep. She supposed she’d bonded more with Marlene over the other two due to their similar personalities. But while Lyra knew that while she could come off as somewhat cold, Marlene always seemed to put the people around her at ease, she was always ready for a quick-witted joke or comment. It was a quality that Lyra too found comfort in.

Lyra cleared her throat as she felt an awkward silence settling amongst them. ‘I was coming to find you all to take you back to the boy’s compartment.’

The mention of the boys prompted different reactions from each of the girls. Lily smiled automatically, no doubt remembering that the group in question included her boyfriend whom she hadn’t seen since before Christmas. She stood, taking her trunk down from the overhead compartment before taking down Mary’s as well, who had gone a little misty eyed – a common occurrence whenever Sirius was brought into the gravity of any conversation, a fact that Lyra tried to ignore.

Marlene, however, smirked as she retrieved her own trunk. ‘Spent a few days with them and you’re already sick of them?’

Lyra met her smirk with a roll of the eyes. ‘You have no idea,’ she muttered as they left the compartment.

True to the nature of their friendship, the girls kept the walk back to the boy’s compartment full of politely innocent conversation; Mary regaled them with stories from her time spent in Denmark, visiting her grandmother for Christmas, Marlene listed off the presents she’d received from her multitude of brothers – including a new watch that whistled her the time every hour – and Lily gave her side of the story regarding the dinner where she’d introduced James to her sister. To say that the redhead was still hurt over the incident would have been an understatement.

Never once did they enquire further about Lyra’s experiences over the Christmas break.

They’d almost made it to the compartment – Lily and Mary significantly further along, as Marlene had slowed to walk beside Lyra who was walking at a considerably slower pace – when the sound of Lyra’s name being called made them stop.

Turning, they saw Rabastan Lestrange making his way towards them, eyeing Marlene with a barely restrained glare.

‘I’ll meet you in the compartment,’ Lyra muttered to Marlene, tracking Rabastan’s movements.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Marlene shoot her a wary look. The blonde opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but Lyra cut her off.

‘I’ll be fine.’

With a last glance to Lestrange, Marlene pursed her lips, shooting the boy a formidable glare of her own before turning and continuing on to the boy’s compartment.

Lyra watched Rabastan approach waited until he was a meter from her before dropping her gaze. She focussed on the foot of a compartment door further along the corridor, knowing that from this angle he wouldn’t be able to see much of her eyes.

For a moment, the two stood before each other in silence. She could tell that he was taking her in, no doubt trying to figure out how badly hurt she really was and where the worst of her injuries lie.

Not being able to withstand the tension any longer, and not wanting to linger out in the open, Lyra sighed, shrugging as she said, ‘You can’t say it wasn’t at least a little expected.’

‘I would’ve protected you,’ he said quietly.

‘I know,’ she said quickly. The reminder of an old conversation had her lose a tired breath. ‘We’ve been through this, Bash.’

‘I know,’ he echoed her words and she could hear the irritation in his voice. ‘When you chose –’

‘Lyra!’

Rabastan tensed at once, Lyra flicked her eyes up to observe the way his jaw clicked, and she inwardly groaned. She knew that Sirius was liable to storm down the corridor and tear Rabastan away from her by force. That was the last thing any of them needed.

Closing her eyes for a second and willing herself to remain calm, she looked back to Rabastan. ‘I need to go,’ she said, not giving him a chance to respond before turning and walking away as quickly as she could manage. She grabbed hold of Sirius’ wrist as he went to walk straight past her.

Her grip tightened as Sirius opened his mouth, no doubt intending to hurl insults at the Slytherin. ‘Let it go,’ she growled, pulling him along with her as she made her way past the compartment that held their friends.

She didn’t stop until she’d found an empty compartment, pulling Sirius inside.

‘Will you stop doing that!’ She hissed as the door automatically closed behind Sirius, who had followed her in, expression stormy.

‘Doing what?’

‘Acting like a child, reacting to everything without thinking!’ Sirius’ face hardened, but it did nothing to deter her. ‘Things have changed, if you hadn’t noticed. You can’t keep blowing up at everything, at everyone you don’t like. It’s time you learnt some self-control!’

‘You think I don’t know that things have changed!’ Sirius growled. ‘After everything that’s happened over the last week?’ He scoffed in derision. ‘Trust me, Lyra, I know the stakes.’

‘Then act like it.’

He stood, watching her through narrowed eyes. He didn’t appreciate her trying to give him a wakeup call when he was more than aware of the gravity of their new lives. It was precisely because of that reason that he had become so angry just now.

Here she was, talking to the enemy, and she was worried that _he_ would be the one to land them both in hot water? Her hypocrisy was enough to make him want to yell and rant and rave over the fact that it was time she made a choice, it was time for her to get over herself and choose a side.

But then he noticed the way she was standing, with more of her weight on her right leg instead of her left, the way she held her hands loosely across her middle. And he forced himself to remember that, no matter how she acted, no matter how her eyes eddied, she was still hurt. His frustration, still at dangerous levels, relented enough for logic to seep through. She had made her choice. She’d chosen him.

‘Look,’ Sirius said, taking a step forward. ‘I know we never really finished talking about what happened. But if you ever want to . . .’

‘Do you?’ She said quickly, her hardened look growing colder still. He held it for a moment before sighing and looking out the window, not really seeing the landscape as it flew past. 

They eventually re-joined the others, taking their places amongst them in silence, both twin seemingly intent on ignoring the other, a fact not missed by the rest of the compartment’s occupants as the chatter resumed.

ooOOoo

Sirius took a seat across from Remus and Lyra at the Gryffindor table, making sure he was facing the Slytherins. He couldn’t help but scowl at Lyra as the Great Hall continued to fill up.

The rest of the train ride was spent in good spirits, everyone – including Sirius and Lyra, themselves – choosing not to bring up the tense silence that had settled between the two. The mood had dropped considerably when they’d filled Peter in on everything that had happened. Of course, they hadn’t told him the whole story – he’d hear about the dinner when the boys were alone in their dormitory.

Throughout it all, Lyra never uttered a word of contribution to their ‘great escape story’ as James had dubbed it, apart from assuring Peter that she was feeling much better.

Her silence only fuelled Sirius’ irritation. Part of him knew that her silence was just her being cautious . . . it was dangerous for her not to be. But the part that was still throwing things around in his head knew that she was still mad at him for almost starting a duel with Lestrange. The Slytherins – especially _that_ Slytherin – deserved whatever he dished out to them. It was their fault that they’d landed in this mess in the first place, all their stupid, out-dated philosophies.

Plates of food and pitchers of drink started to appear along the table and without thinking, Sirius started piling his plate. He tried to ignore the raucous laughter erupting from the other side of the hall, focussing instead on what was going on around him. Something he immediately regretted, for he was met with a most unpleasant sight.

‘Urgh, do you two have to do that in public? You’re making the food go bad.’

James and Lily pulled away from each other, both smirking over at him.

‘Oh, are we making you uncomfortable, Sirius?’ James asked in mock concern, not sounding genuine in the slightest. He turned to Lily. ‘What d’you reckon?’ He asked her, ‘Should we consider this payback?

Lily snorted. ‘I think we’d have to do a lot more than this for us to be even, don’t you?’

James and Peter burst out laughing. Sirius added his own sarcastic chuckle to the mix.

But as he sat laughing with James and Peter, he noticed that the two across the table were unusually quiet.

Remus was smirking along but it was clear that his attention was divided.

Lyra – her friends completely ignored by her – was absentmindedly inspecting the table, the silverware, the goblets. Every now and then, her head would turn slightly, as if she was trying to listen to something she couldn’t see behind her, before hastily returning her attention back to what lay in front of her.

Sirius scanned the table across the room.

There, laughing along with a group of his housemates, sat Regulus. Sirius scowled, anger licking his insides like flames.

The boy had never once cared for them or anything that happened to them. Sirius had long since come to the conclusion that they were better off without him, along with the rest of their family. Regulus had made his position clear when he’d tried to talk Sirius out of leaving that day.

 _Good riddance_ Sirius thought. It was about time they washed their hands of those people. All Sirius and Lyra had ever really needed was each other. Now, if she only chose to stop involving herself with them, he was sure that everything would be okay.

When the feast eventually ended and everyone started to make their way back to their Common Rooms, Sirius watched his brother walk out of the Great Hall. It struck Sirius how Regulus seemed much more like a young boy than he had ever known him to be.

‘You coming, Padfoot?’

Sirius looked up at James, forcing himself to forget about his family troubles for the time being, and followed his friends out of the Great Hall.

So focussed was Sirius’ attention on his siblings throughout dinner, that he failed to account for three others, whose attentions were all similarly fixed on the Black siblings throughout the night.

_Things have changed_


	7. Chapter 7

## Chapter Six

After seven years, waking up before dawn had become automatic. The soft snores and sleepy moans of her dormmates had become the soundtrack that started her day. These brief moments of peace and calm before everyone awoke had become the only such moment’s she was guaranteed on any given day. So, she’d learnt early to start the day before the sun rose.

Grabbing the pink salve from her trunk with a scowl, she headed into the bathroom. Thankfully the mirrors in the Hogwarts bathrooms weren’t charmed and the one above the sink made no sudden outbursts of concern when Lyra undressed. Her jaw clenched painfully as she took in the long pink, jagged rips that tore through her middle. The longest of the three, still spotted with scabs, stretched from the middle of her left rib cage to her right hip bone. All of them were raised slightly. Mrs Potter had informed her that they would stay like that forever. She tried to quell the rush of anger that swept through her by tearing her eyes away from the mirror. She tried to ignore the heat pooling in her hands by clenching her fists as she turned the shower on and stepped under the scalding hot stream.

The best thing about waking up before the other students, Lyra had decided, was that she was always the first in the Great Hall for breakfast. She arrived just as the sun was beginning its ascent and the charmed ceiling bathed the hall in a soft pink and golden light, when the table was still clear of food and drink. Sitting down at the Gryffindor table, she glanced up at the nearly empty high table.

Professor McGonagall was always the first one to arrive. Lyra had always suspected, being the diligent teacher that she was, that the woman made a conscious effort to try and start the day as early as she could Looking up from her paper, McGonagall inclined her head towards Lyra in what had become their customary greeting. Lyra copied the movement, looking back to the table just in time to see a steaming pot appear in front of her.

She was on to her second mug of coffee and had already finished her helping of scrambled eggs and toast when Marlene dropped into the seat beside her. By this time, the hall had begun to steadily fill, a scattering of students at each house table, and the usual buzz of energy and conversation had settled into the space like a heavy blanket. McGonagall had been joined by Professor Flitwick and Professor Antone – who had taken the Defence Against the Dark Arts position at the start of the year after old Professor Samps had retired – before excusing herself and leaving to start the day.

Normally, Lyra would have followed McGonagall’s lead and left before the hall had the chance to become too full, but something held her at the table that morning. Not being the type to try and analyse things, Lyra simply accepted facts and sipped her coffee.

‘I almost forgot. Here,’ Marlene said absentmindedly, putting a small box on the opened Daily Prophet spread out before Lyra as she grabbed a piece of toast and some raspberry jam. ‘Merry Christmas.’

No longer surprised by such acts of spontaneity from the blonde, Lyra simply raised her eyebrows in wary curiosity. Placing her mug down beside her, she lifted the lid. She withdrew a small, cool, silver metal box, which had an indent running around the circumference two thirds up. Her brow dropped as she turned it over.

Clearly predicting her confusion, Marlene scoffed through her smirk and took the box from her. Lyra watched as Marlene ran her fingernail under the indent, gently tugging the top of the box off. Under the hinged lid was a sight that only deepened Lyra’s confusion. Smirking in anticipation, Marlene placed her thumb on a small barrel and slid it towards her.

Lyra felt her jaw drop. There, coming from the small box in Marlene’s hand, was a single flame.

‘How did you do that!’ Lyra asked in astonishment.

Marlene was positively beside herself over the fact that she’d managed to pull such a reaction from the normally composed girl. ‘Pretty cool, yeah?’

‘But, it’s muggle!’

‘Right, it’s called a lighter,’ Marlene said. ‘So don’t ask me how it works, cause I have no idea.’ She let go of the pad at the bottom of the barrel her thumb had been pressing on. The flame disappeared immediately, and she flipped the lid back in place, handing it back to Lyra who immediately opened the lid again, mirroring Marlene’s previous actions.

She marvelled at the small flicker of heat and light; she never knew that conjuring a flame could be done so simply.

‘Evan’s told me that if it ever stops working,’ Marlene explained, returning to her breakfast, ‘that you need to take it to a _tobacco_ shop and ask _fluid_ , oh and don’t forget some muggle money.’ She paused and looked across at Lyra again, who was now making the flame appear and disappear every couple of seconds. ‘And please don’t show it to your brother. With the amount that boy smokes, you’d likely never see that thing again.’

Lyra let her thumb slip and finally closed the lid on the lighter, turning in her seat to stare accusingly at Marlene. ‘Yes, I have been meaning to talk to you about how exactly Sirius picked up that particular habit.’

‘Don’t know what you mean,’ Marlene said, taking a rather large bite of toast.

Lyra narrowed her eyes, slipping the lighter into the pocket of her robe. ‘It’s disgusting, Marls.’

‘What’s disgusting?’

Marlene grinned at the timely interruption that had no doubt saved her from Lyra’ inquisition as Sirius, James, Peter and Remus along with Lily and Mary took the empty seats around the two girls. Lyra turned her glare from Marlene to Sirius who was now sitting directly across from her.

‘What?’ He demanded, looking from Lyra’s narrowed eyes, to Marlene, who was practically alight with glee at the prospect of landing Sirius in hot water. Remembering the question he’d just posed, Sirius put a hand to his chest, looking somewhat affronted. ‘ _I’m_ disgusting?’

Marlene, who had hastily chewed and swallowed her food – no doubt in preparation for such an opening – leaned slightly towards Sirius. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, in mock concern, ‘I thought that was common knowledge.’

‘I wasn’t asking for your opinion, McKinnon,’ Sirius griped.

‘I’m sorry,’ Marlene said again, waving him away. ‘But we all took a vote, and the results didn’t exactly sway your way.’

Sensing where this was heading, Lyra rolled her eyes, subtly sharing a look of exasperation to Remus who was sitting next to Sirius, before picking up her paper and promptly hiding behind it as the voices grew louder.

Lyra was just about to lose herself in an article about the latest vanishings, when something stopped her – a number of somethings.

An unnerving feeling rose quickly through her veins. Almost instinctively she followed it and looked to her left, eyes going straight back to the Head Table. But instead of being absorbed in whatever he had been reading before, Professor Antone was now looking right at her, unashamedly she noted. Before she’d had a chance to do anything more than glance in his direction, someone knocked into her side, making her wince, dropping her paper, as pain flared through her.

‘Shit, sorry Lyra, you okay?’ James said quickly, hand paused still reaching for the orange juice.

Nodding him away quickly, Lyra was about to check the Head Table again as the sound of hundreds of wings erupted suddenly from above. She didn’t bother looking for Talons, who had already stopped by the Great Hall earlier to deliver the Daily Prophet. So, when something large swooped towards her, dropping a letter before flying off in a hurry, Lyra couldn’t help but startle. She recovered in time to see see Aries flying away in haste. Aries was her parent owl.

Those sitting around her stopped, their own letters and packages falling unnoticed beside them. Lyra’s apprehension, which had already been stirred due to Antone’s strange behaviour just before, rose further as she looked down and saw familiar cursive. A quick glance across the table confirmed that Sirius had no letter in front of him which both relieved and frightened her a little.

She’d never expected to hear from her mother ever again. From what Sirius had told her, both of them were now disinherited, scorched from their family in more than one way. There was no doubt in her mind that this letter contained more of the same.

Cautiously pulling it towards her, Lyra decided that opening it as quickly as possible, getting it over and done with, would be the most preferable option. The others eyed the letter nervously as she tore it open in one fluid motion.

There was a collective sigh when nothing happened.

But then Lyra pulled the letter out and started to read.

She could feel the colour drain from her face. With every word she read, her anger, her disbelief, her disgust grew. The words ran out just in time just in time as a familiar swell of heat began to pool in her fingers. Without thinking, she held the letter out for Sirius to take, who snatched it from her and greedily set about reading it. Now that her hands were free, Lyra quickly pulled them under the table and out of sight.

Sirius’ face contorted in rage as his eyes flew across the parchment.

‘That fucking cow!’ Sirius spat, standing and looking wildly about the Hall, blind to everything but what he sought. From across the table, James was desperately trying to read the parts of the letter he could see from where he sat.

Sirius’ eyes suddenly narrowed, his body stilled as if he were a cat, ready to pounce on its prey. He stalked away from them without a word, dropping the letter.

‘Sirius!?’ Lily called after him.

Lyra realised that, to the others, she probably appeared to be in a state of shock as she sat, staring blankly ahead. What they didn’t know was that she was trying desperately to remain calm. A feat that seemed unlikely as the contents of the letter replayed themselves through her head.

‘It’s their mother,’ James said, reading the letter he’d snatched up as quickly as soon as it had hit the table. ‘She’s,’ he paused, rereading it to make sure he’d understood correctly. ‘She’s begging for Lyra’s forgiveness. She says that if Lyra reconciles with them now then all _past transgressions_ will be forgotten. She vows that Lyra will be protected if she accepts their offer.’ He paused again quickly reading to the end. Unsuccessfully holding back a frustrated snort, he said, with no small hint of contempt, ‘She also says that none of these terms apply to Sirius, that his actions can’t be forgiven so easily.’

The others, who had fallen into a disbelieving stupor by this point, all jumped when loud voices erupted from the next table.

‘To hell with you, you insufferable little git!’

Lyra lifted her eyes to see Sirius standing across from Regulus, the Slytherin table wedged between them. A number of Slytherins, Regulus included, had shot to their feet as soon as they’d realised where Sirius was headed. All of them had drawn their wands. All of them except Regulus. And every single person in the Great Hall at that moment realised that if it hadn’t been for the table separating them, the two brothers would have already come to blows.

To his credit, Regulus was standing straight backed and proud, an expression of defiance firmly setting his features. The feathering of his jaw was the only tell-tale sign of nervousness Lyra could see, and he had every right to be nervous. Everyone knew that, for all his joking and levity, Sirius Black was a skilled wizard and had the potential to be extremely dangerous when provoked – all one had to do was see his mock duels in Defence Against the Dark Arts and the way his eyes flashed when he came across of group of Slytherins to know that.

The teachers at the Head Table had also been quick to their feet, already making their way towards the boys.

Sirius was shaking as he removed his wand from his pants pocket. There was a collective intake of breath from everyone in the hall as they were expecting him to aim at his brother. But instead, Sirius pointed his wand towards the Gryffindor table. Mrs Black’s letter flew from James’ hand and soared into his waiting hand.

Sirius leant further across the table, slamming the crumpled letter into Regulus’ chest with an audible impact.

‘You tell that _loathsome_ old slag,’ Sirius growled, his voice trembling from fury, ‘that the only thing _her daughter_ needs to be protected from is _them_! And if they _ever_ come near her or me again, I will gladly repay them for their past kindness!’ And with that, Sirius turned to his right, extended his arms wide in a mock bow and smiled a broad, extremely false smile, at McGonagall who had been walking past the Great Hall when she’d heard Lily cry out Sirius’ name. ‘Minnie!’ Sirius called as the Professor reached him, with apparently no hint of his previous outburst. ‘After you,’ he said, bowing deeper still and ushering her to lead the way. His forced jocularity was abandoned as soon as McGonagall’s back was to him and he followed her from the Hall with a ferocious look clouding his face

While Sirius followed McGonagall, Professor Slughorn, Regulus’ head of house, quickly escorted him from the Hall as well, the boy’s jaw still ticking away.

Those sitting at the Gryffindor table all slowly turned, silent, to where Lyra sat. She was frowning at the spot her brothers had stood moments before.

‘Miss Black,’ came Professor Flitwick’s firm but squeaky voice from behind her. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Miss Black, but I am going to have to ask you to follow me.’

Lyra nodded her head numbly, picked up her satchel and rose from the table, dropping her eyes immediately.

As she followed the little Professor, Lyra felt the uneasy feeling from before rise again. As subtly as she could, she looked behind her as she was exiting the Hall. Professor Antone looked right back at her. 

ooOOoo

Sirius was still shaking as he pushed himself further into the seat in Professor McGonagall’s office, glaring at the eagle quill sitting atop her desk. He refused to turn his head. The thought of his brother, no doubt sitting smugly in the chair next to him, was more than enough to fuel his anger already, he didn’t need it confirmed.

How dare they think that they could worm their way back into Lyra’s life. After everything they’d done to her, after they’d tried to kill her! It was far, far too late for that – even if it was a possibility – which of course it wasn’t, it was absurd, it was infuriating! His Mother had disinherited them . . . _both_ of them. Something like that couldn’t just be undone with some frivolous, shallow letter. Words weren’t enough to wash away so much blood . . . blood that Regulus had seen. There was no doubt in Sirius’ mind in that moment that Regulus was just as guilty as those who caused Lyra’s blood to spill in the first place.

The door to the office opened, then closed with a soft click. Lyra appeared in his periphery as she took the empty seat beside him, so that he was now in the middle of his two siblings. He didn’t look at her, instead he ground his teeth further, not letting his eyes stray from Professor McGonagall who, at the present moment, looked downright murderous.

‘Now,’ she started, terse and stiff-lipped, nostrils flaring. ‘I realise that certain events have occurred over the most recent holidays that have caused a rift to form between the three of you. But that does not give you any excuse to begin rioting within the halls of this school! As students of Hogwarts it is expected that you act in a manner befitting both your age and your education.’

McGonagall now focussed solely on the two boys. ‘If I hear of another outburst, of any un-pleasantries of any kind, no matter how small or discreet, that take place between any of you, you will face much more serious consequences than the ones you are facing right now.’ After receiving stiff nods of understanding, she gave an almost imperceptible huff and leant back in her chair, steepling her fingers. ‘You will all be receiving separate detentions – Mr Black,’ she said, looking at Regulus, ‘I will talk to Professor Slughorn who will inform you of the details – and I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of Professor Dumbledore wanting to talk to you all as well in the coming days.’

Sirius shot from his chair. ‘But Lyra-!’

McGonagall rose with speed Sirius would never have expected to see from her, she slammed her open palms on the table. ‘Enough, Mr Black!’

Sirius blinked in shock. Sure, he’d heard McGonagall get angry over the years, but that was anger borne out of good fun (for the most part). This was something else, something rawer.

‘You and Mr Black are free to go. You will both proceed straight to your first lessons and if I hear that you have made even the slightest detour than you will be back here explaining yourself to the Headmaster.’

Sirius opened his mouth again.

‘I wish to speak to Miss Black privately.’ Her tone was final, and Sirius knew it. He laid a quick hand on Lyra’s shoulder as he walked past, offering as much comfort as he could manage, before storming from the room.

Regulus, in stark contrast, rose slowly, composedly. He didn’t acknowledge anyone as he left. And It was only after she had heard the door close that Lyra noticed that Regulus had placed something on McGonagall’s table.

A crumpled piece of parchment covered in fine cursive writing.

McGonagall retook her seat with a long, drawn out and tired sigh. She looked at Lyra for a moment, taking in the paleness of her skin, the deep crease of her forehead, the way her hands had made their way into the pockets of her robe.

‘The Potter’s contacted us throughout the holidays, Miss Black,’ McGonagall said, her voice softer now that they were alone. ‘We are aware of how you came to spend the last few days with them but are, yet, unaware of the why.’

She waited for a response from Lyra, maybe she was hoping for an explanation, but, as he’d already predicted, none ever came.

Lyra gritted her teeth. She wasn’t about to be bullied into talking about things that were her business alone. Not wanting to disrespect her head of house, however, she determined that silence would be a sufficient response.

After a moment McGonagall pursed her lips and continued. ‘You will be reporting to Professor Dumbledore for your detention.’

Lyra’s head shot up.

McGonagall raised her hands. ‘Not for punishment, but merely for a discussion. If you wish, you may simply spend the time in silence. If I know the Headmaster, he will not push you for information, but it could be beneficial for you to offer it. If there is one person who can help you, Miss Black, it is Albus Dumbledore.’ She waited again, unconvinced that her words were getting through. ‘Do you understand?’

Lyra’s brain was telling her that she was nodding, yet she couldn’t feel it, she was struggling to feel anything but the burning in her fingertips. Six and a half years of successfully evading the Hogwarts headmaster – which was a considerably harder feat to accomplish with Sirius as a sibling – had been shot to hell.

Merlin help her.

‘Very well,’ McGonagall said heavily, ‘you are free to leave. Straight to your first lesson, if you please,’ she warned as Lyra rose.

Lyra neither noticed nor cared if McGonagall saw her taking the discarded letter from her desk.

As she left the office, she finally felt something. She felt a single tear trail down her cheek, along with the coarseness of the crumpled piece of parchment in her fist.

When she was finally free of the office, of prying eyes, when she had reached the security of an empty corridor she let the flood gates in her fingers open and she did not have to look down to know that the tips of her fingers, still stuffed in her pockets, were glowing, a deep blood red.

Walking slowly down the corridor, she let go of the letter and it rose to float in front of her face, uncurling before her eyes. Lyra withdrew a hand, in it was the lighter, it’s cool metal quickly becoming hot. Lifting the lid and pulling her thumb along the barrel, Lyra watched as the flame appeared. With a mere twitch of her fingers, the flame lifted from the lighter and moved to envelope the letter.

It burst into flames.

The last thing Lyra read were the words _come home, my daughter._ Snapping the lighter closed, she flexed her hands when there was nothing left but empty space in front of her and made her way to the fifth floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shout out to dreamingingrey who left a comment on the last chapter... I haven't been feeling much love for this story lately, so it's nice to know that someone out there is enjoying it :) I thought that being plonked right in the middle of the action might put people off, but that's always the way this story was going to go, with revelations coming gradually, again I'm glad it's intrigued you. And if you like world building, watch this space, there'll be a lot more of it on the way. 
> 
> I hope others like this chapter and please feel free to comment so you can see what happens next ;)


	8. Chapter 7

## Chapter Seven

She stared at the words. The clamour of pots and pans, the sound of small feet rushing about, the smell of hundreds of dishes, of roast lamb and cottage pie, washed over her as she stared at the words on the small bit of parchment that had been dropped on the table next to her.

_Droobles_

_Thursday 9pm_

It had been two weeks since the incident in the Great Hall and Lyra had begun to hope that McGonagall had forgotten to arrange her meeting with Dumbledore. It was a wild hope. One that she would have been mad to think about with any weight. But no matter how distantly that hope was kept, it had been blown into nonexistence. And now in three days’ time, she’d be sitting in the headmaster’s office.

She’d resolved to not say anything. She’d go because she had to, but she wouldn’t do anything, wouldn’t say anything that would invite more conversation. The others had tried to reassure her that it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. But they didn’t know what she was thinking. Sirius was the only one who hadn’t said anything. He no doubt knew that his were the only words that could bring her close to reassurance. Instead he’d just gritted his teeth and sat, brooding in the squishy armchair as the rest of them sat around the common room fire, all agreeing that there were worse ways to serve a detention then sipping tea with the headmaster.

Lyra could guess why Sirius had chosen silence. It wasn’t something he did often. Whenever he did, she knew it was because she would have found something disagreeable with the words he wanted to say, and he knew it. And she knew exactly what it was he was desperate to say that night. He wanted to tell her that she should get over herself. That Dumbledore was a great wizard who she should respect. And then, once it was just the seventh years left in the common room, he would’ve brought up the little group they’d all decided to join.

 _The Order of the Phoenix_. Even thinking about it cause a sneer to form, a scoff to escape from her. A part of her, a very small vindictive voice that she would never let see the light of day, was pushing her to bring it up on Thursday night. It dared her to ask what made Dumbledore think that children would make for better soldiers than the countless Aurors he no doubt knew.

A pressure on her fingers pulled Lyra from the letter. Sitting on the table beside her, having finished chewing a piece of discarded chicken on the side of her plate, Talons had turned her attention to Lyra. Big yellow eyes were now fixed on swirling silver ones. At her master’s raised eyebrow, Talons turned her head in a silent demand that Lyra knew all too well. The letter was all but forgotten as the girl moved to gently scratch the owl’s dusty brown feathers.

The grin that had slowly been creeping onto Lyra’s face faltered when she felt a familiar presence enter through the kitchen’s portrait.

‘There you are,’ Sirius muttered, making his way towards them, ignoring the house elves who dodged around him on their way to offload heavy dishes onto the four long tables running the length of the room.

Lyra couldn’t decide who he was talking to until he held out his arm, Talons flying straight to him.

For a moment, Sirius hesitated, not knowing whether to sit down with her or just leave in silence. Lyra fleetingly wished that the last month hadn’t happened, that they could go back to how things had been before their parents had ruined everything.

She didn’t have to wait long for Sirius to make a decision and a quick movement of his head in the direction of the entrance, had Lyra standing from her place at the end of the table. After years of non-verbal communication, she’d accurately translated the movement as a request for her to join him.

As they left the kitchens, Lyra noticed the letter in his hand, frowning in confusion at the name written on the envelope.

‘Why are you writing to Uncle Alphard?’

‘I can explain.’ Sirius said, giving her a sideways glance.

‘I don’t think you can, actually.’ She tried to keep her voice as calm as possible as they passed a small group of first year Hufflepuffs making their way to their common room. ‘But give it your best shot.’

‘Well it’s not like I can waltz into Rosier Estate and simply ask Madam Rosier what exactly she was talking about that night.’

A heavy stone of exhaustion dropped into Lyra’s chest.

‘Although, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to invite me inside so we can discuss the matter over a nice cup of tea,’ Sirius muttered, sarcasm coating his voice like bubotuber pus.

They stepped onto a flight of steps just in time for it to give a jolt – an action that had Lyra gripping the stone banister so as to not grip her stomach as it shot with a sharp pain. As the pair climbed the moving staircase, those in the group of Ravenclaws climbing the staircase in front of them tried their hardest to discreetly peek over their shoulders. Whether they were attempting to sneak a glance at her, Sirius, or Talons, she didn’t know. To assuage her discomfort, she told herself that they were most likely looking at Talons. After all, it wasn’t too often that an Australian Boobook owl would accompany a student to a school in Scotland.

Lyra felt herself grin when she looked at the small creature on her brother’s shoulder. Their mother had told them that they were to share an animal, that she wasn’t going to waste galleons on two creatures when she doubted the twin’s ability to even look after one. Lyra had spotted Talons first. She had been placed in a cage and shoved into a corner in the back of the emporium. She’d been missing feathers and was lethargic and pale. Apparently, the owl had not taken the trip from Australia too well.

After showing Sirius, he quickly became just as enamoured as she was with the plighted bird. They’d prepared themselves to convince their mother to let them buy her, but, to their surprise, Walburga had spared the poor creature a single glance before laughing and agreeing to their request.

To this day Lyra wasn’t sure why Walburga had done this, perhaps she’d not expected the bird to make it, and was revelling in some twisted delight over the prospect of her children’s future heartache. Perhaps she’d simply seen the requested price and had pounced on a deal that was better than the one she’d been expecting. Whatever her reasons, it soon didn’t matter as the bird quickly made a full recovery, thanks to Sirius and Lyra’s efforts. And the twins never once missed the embittered look that would pollute their mothers face every time Talons would fly into a room.

The group of Ravenclaws didn’t look back once they reached the top of the staircase and moved into the corridor it had stopped in front of. Sirius and Lyra followed them for a few steps before turning into a much less crowded passageway.

Making sure that nobody had followed them, Lyra turned to Sirius as they walked.

‘You think Alphard might know something we don’t?’

‘What _do_ we know, Lyra? I mean, apart from the obvious,’ he said, waving a dismissive hand in her direction, not acknowledging her raised eyebrow. ‘It’s worth a try. We weren’t around back then, he was, he could know something.’

Lyra didn’t say anything. Stepping into a corridor that had been hidden behind a tapestry, nothing but the sound of their footsteps echoed around them.

When she was younger, she remembered that one of her mother’s friends would sometimes visit. She had a distinct impression that Walburga had made them call her aunt or some such. She’d once told Lyra that she was unique, special, capable of so much more than anyone would ever allow. Such words said to such a young girl would of course be received with a fair amount of wonder and excitement, and trepidation. Looking back at it now . . . how those words haunted her.

But that was a lifetime ago. And even if Sirius was okay with allowing himself to be sucked into it all, she wouldn’t.

Lyra didn’t say anything until they’d reached the Fat Lady. As always, the guardian to the Gryffindor Common Room winked at Sirius – who winked back on instinct – and cast a wary glance to Lyra – who ignored her, as usual.

Turning to face each other, Lyra gave Talons’ head another soft scratch.

‘Just, don’t be disappointed if he can’t tell you anything.’

‘You almost sound hopeful that he won’t.’

Lowering her arm, Lyra turned to the Fat Lady, murmuring the password. She’d taken a step before she realised that Sirius hadn’t moved.

‘Owlery,’ he said in answer to her unspoken question, shrugging the shoulder on which Talons was still perched. Well aware of the fact that she didn’t quite believe him, Sirius tried not to sigh too obviously when she finally turned and made her way into the common room, the portrait swinging shut behind her.

Turning towards the direction of the owlery, Sirius gritted his teeth. He knew Lyra better than anyone else alive, and she to him. But there were times when he questioned even that. She was afraid. Of that he was certain. But of what, he had no clue.

ooOOoo

‘Have you ever read Dracula?’ He asked, lips twitching upwards as a soft, distracted hum answered her, followed by the sound of a page being turned. ‘Y’know, that one by Bram Stoker, the muggle author.’

‘The one about the vampire? No, I haven’t. Why?’

Remus shrugged. ‘Just wondering how accurate an account it is. He based the main character after Vlad Drakul, you know.’

‘Hmm, it’d be interesting to read a muggle’s perspective.’

Rolling on to his side, he grinned fully when he saw her still engrossed in the book she was reading.

After being thoroughly bogged down by mountains of homework, they had finally worked through enough of it that they could relax for an afternoon. Remus was sure she’d been doing most of her work in the small hours of the morning, knowing that she never really slept well. Not that he could talk. The full moon was only a few days away and he’d woken up in the middle of the night more than once since returning from Christmas.

They were currently lounging on a blanket that had been thrown down over the thick layer of snow under a tree near the frozen lake at the edge of the Dark Forrest. The air surrounding them was a lot calmer and warmer than the air Remus had walked through to get here . . . He doubted it was a natural phenomenon.

Now as he lay on his side, propped up by an arm, his own book lay forgotten beside him, Remus cast an eye over the grounds. Off in the distance he could just make out the tops of the Quidditch posts through the thin mist that had accompanied the snow. Every so often a figure on top a broomstick would fly around one of the posts before quickly dipping and disappearing again.

The sight led him to consider the twins’ on-going tension. Sirius and Lyra were fiercely protective of one another, about that there was no argument. Maybe it was because of this that he would never get used to how short tempered they could be towards each other.

There was something they weren’t telling the rest of them. Something that had happened that night that had led them both to put distance between them.

‘So, when are you going to have it out with Sirius?’

Lyra flipped another page of her book. ‘When he stops being a stubborn arse.’

Remus was tempted to make a reference to a pot calling a kettle black but bit his tongue.

Remus rolled over so he was being propped up by his forearms to better consider her. She had a hand resting on her stomach and Remus felt the familiar feeling of panic flare. He knew that there was nothing to worry about, by now she’d healed, she was fine and that’s simply where her arm had fallen, but still the panic remained.

Remus blinked. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on between the two of you?’

She dropped her book and turned to him, frowning a little, the silver in her eyes swirling softly like the snowflakes that fell around them.

After a moment, she sighed, facing the branches above once more and closing her eyes. ‘Sirius is just being paranoid, as per usual.’

Remus’ eyes narrowed in annoyance but chose not to say anything.

‘I’m sorry,’ came Lyra’s voice. ‘I know you hate it when we fight.’

Remus snorted and moved closer to her. ‘The whole castle hates it when the two of you fight.’ Indeed, while the castle was not accustomed to seeing Lyra in what one would call a sunny disposition, they were used to seeing Sirius in a good mood. Having him stalk and brood through the castle was enough to set everyone who saw him on edge. 

Remus relished in the smile that bloomed on Lyra’s face when she opened her eyes to find him leaning close to her.

‘Well it’s a good thing that not _everyone_ seems too upset then,’ she said, her deep voice sending a shiver down him that had nothing to do with the surrounding snow.

Remus pretended to be affronted as he slowly lowered his face to meet hers. ‘If you’re talking about me then I’ll have you know that I . . . am . . . very . . . very . . . upset.’ He pressed short kisses to her lips, cheeks, forehead between the words.

‘If you say so,’ Lyra chuckled at his attention, which had grown now that he’d stopped speaking.

Remus grinned and gently bit a spot on her neck he knew would get a response. He wasn’t disappointed as Lyra gave a small, breathy moan.

‘Remus, what do you think you’re doing?’ Her hands pressing into his chest. ‘We can’t do this here.’

‘Why not?’ He mumbled into her skin, revelling in the warmth she was giving off. He captured her lips with his when she didn’t answer him, apparently not having a good enough reason to stop, which was reason enough to keep going.

What he wouldn’t give to be frozen in this moment forever. From the snowflakes falling gently, to the soft breeze swirling around them, to Lyra underneath him, her hands in his hair. It was perfection, totally, completely. 

Or it would have been if a twig hadn’t snapped from somewhere in the forest behind them that had them pulling away from each other and peering into the shadowy undergrowth.

Lyra was the first to look away patting Remus’ chest as she did so. ‘It’s probably just an animal.’

Remus nodded but didn’t look away. Now that he focussed, he swore he could hear something, almost like . . .

‘Remus!’

He looked down at her.

She patted his chest again, pushing a little this time.

‘Come on, I better get going, I’m sure I was supposed to meet the girls for lunch.’

He rolled over and watched Lyra get up. She bent down and gave him a chaste kiss. ‘I’ll see you later.’

He watched her until she was out of sight before he turned back to the forest, trying to find that sound again. But it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off sorry about the lack of update on Monday, I had a killer of a university assignment due and didn’t have time to work on this story. But to make up for it, I thought I’d give you all a bit more of Remus and Lyra seeing as people seem to like their dynamic (can’t lie, so do I, obviously) and I’m hoping to get another chapter up by Monday as well.
> 
> Continued thanks to all those who are following this story and even more thanks to those leaving comments, you are the fuel that keeps this story going. 
> 
> likeaslasherfilm - thanks for your thoughts... I'm the same as you when it comes to the all-powerful Mary Sue characters that you find in some stories. I've tried very hard to create a character who has both flaws and redemptive qualities as I think that's what the authors I like to read do so well. There's also a broader concept that I'm working with when it comes to writing Lyra, but you're going to have to wait to find out what it is ;) 
> 
> dreamingingrey - Again, thank you for your comment and for your continued support. I enjoy exploring personalities as well as delving into concepts involved in world building, so I can assure you, you'll be getting plenty of both :) 
> 
> I’m currently doing work experience in a small zoo/conservation park that have a few boobook owls. I couldn’t help myself from including them into this story as they’re super cute and have such expressive little faces. They’re also quite small and I thought it would be a nice tie into as to why Sirius chose such a small owl (Pigwidgeon – who according to JK was a miniature scops owl) to gift to Ron.
> 
> Next time, Lyra’s detention with Dumbledore.
> 
> Till next time, stay safe, stay happy.


	9. Chapter 8

## Chapter Eight

‘There you are! Where have you been?’

Lyra glanced up long enough to catch Marlene’s figure descending the Entrance Hall’s stairs. Then the girls head was down again, eyes most likely firmly fixed on the floor before her.

It had taken Marlene a while to get used to this reaction. It took her a few months of patience to realise that ducking her head didn’t necessarily mean that Lyra was going to bolt. As she got older, Marlene entertained the fact that maybe this was a knee-jerk reaction having developed after years of having to avoid the calamities stirred up by the other Black twin. She wouldn’t blame anyone from trying to put distance between themselves and anything that had to do with Sirius Black – of course, she wouldn’t blame them from getting first row seats to watch his messes either.

Dodging younger students on their way to dinner, Marlene reached the bottom of the staircase and watched as Lyra approached. She appeared to be a little more flustered than the mask of practiced composure she usually wore. The soft pink shade dusting her high cheekbones had Marlene narrowing her eyes towards the open door leading to the grounds that Lyra had walked through. A number of scenarios as to what her friend might have been doing to get her in such a state soared through Marlene’s mind. One particular hypothesis had her grinning so widely that it took great effort to try and reign in by the time Lyra stood before her. She made a mental note to inspect Lupin later.

Lyra stopped before her and Marlene realised that the pink on her cheeks held a slightly redder shade than she’d first noticed . . . a red that she’d usually associate with someone who could do with a pepper up potion.

‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ Marlene said, trying as usual not to focus on Lyra’s eyes which had risen to meet hers. ‘I thought we were going to study together in our free period?’

Lyra gave a small groan. ‘I’m so sorry, I forgot. I got all my work done early, so I thought I’d take a walk.’ The sincerity in Lyra’s voice was almost enough to disprove Marlene’s prior hypothesis.

Almost.

‘Uh-huh,’ she said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

Lyra cast a quick glance around the hall, shoulders clenched, hand gripping the shoulder strap of her bag, noting the throngs of students making their way to the Great Hall.

‘You can come have dinner with me and we can do some study if you want,’ Lyra said, a tad quicker than she usually would.

Marlene didn’t have to think about it, especially as she spotted a red-headed figure walking down the stairs. ‘Sure, let’s go,’ she said quickly, hoping that Lyra hadn’t noticed where her eyes had drifted. She grabbed hold of Lyra’s shoulder and steered her away.

‘I thought you and Lily called a truce.’

Damn.

Marlene shrugged. ‘We had. We have,’ she corrected herself. ‘Until she caught me trying to hex that cat of hers this morning.’

As the passed the Great Hall, Marlene quickly looked in, seeing the four house tables laden with students. This meant that she also caught Lyra’s flat expression trained solely on her, which left Marlene smirking despite herself.

‘You hexed her cat?’

. ‘No,’ Marlene scoffed. ‘I _tried_ to,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forgive James for getting her that thing.’ Even the thought made her scowl. Just over a year ago James had gifted Lily a little ginger cat for her birthday after hearing that her last one had died. Everyone thought it was so romantic. To Marlene, though, it was just another stupid thing the boy had done to try and win the red head over.

And then came the story. James had apparently received the cat from Rosmerta, the new waitress at the Three Broomsticks, who said she’d found the cat and taken it in. But the girl hadn’t been able to take enough care of it and had been looking for someone to adopt it. James had pounced, Lily had gushed, and Marlene would come to rue the day that cat was brought into their lives.

‘I wouldn’t have seriously hurt it,’ Marlene defended, as they entered a quieter corridor. ‘I just wanted to keep it away from my stuff. Do you know how many times I’ve caught that thing rifling through my trunk? It’s drawn to it like a niffler to gold! I’m really starting to question that cat’s sanity,’ she said as the two stopped before a portrait of a bowl of fruit.

‘I’d be more worried about what’s in your trunk, if I were you,’ Lyra said. ‘Merlin knows the last time you gave it a good clean.’

Marlene offered a sarcastic chuckle as Lyra reached out and tickled the pear, which wriggled in giggles. The portrait swung open, revealing the Hogwarts kitchens.

She would never forget the day Lyra showed her this room. Marlene had been pestering the girl over why she was rarely at dinner. After not believing Lyra’s many assurances that she did, indeed, have dinner every night, the girl led her down here, offering proof of her claim.

To this day, Marlene still felt some of the awe she’d experienced when first seeing the four long tables, the great fires and stoves, and the countless house elves bustling around laden with dishes. But the way in which Lyra walked into the room, towards the end of the closest table, sat down, smiling softly at the house elf already approaching her, was still enough to make Marlene blink in quiet amazement. She allowed herself to linger in the entrance for another second before following Lyra and sitting down opposite her.

After eating their fill – discarded plates having been promptly cleared by the house elf who had volunteered to look after them for the evening – and having gone through the notes they’d accumulated from their numerous subjects, Marlene decided that now was a good a time as any.

‘How are you going with your wand work?’

‘Fine,’ Lyra mumbled offhandedly as she scribbled a quick note about the benefits of wormwood in elixirs onto her potion’s essay.

Stifling a sigh, Marlene took her wand out of her pocket. ‘Okay then,’ she said, ‘conjure a blue bell flame.’

Lyra’s quill stilled, ink dripping onto her parchment as she lifted her head.

‘You can glare at me all you want; you know you’re going to need to master this if you want to pass NEWTs.’

‘Fine,’ Lyra gritted, pulling her satchel closer to her and rifling through it.

Marlene would never understand how anyone could go through life with the apparent lack of care Lyra showed her wand.

Eventually, Lyra withdrew her vine and dragon-heartstring wand. Marlene didn’t miss the customary wary glance the dark-haired girl spared it.

‘Alright, take a deep breath, and picture the wand movements in your mind,’ Marlene said, trying to imitate the way she’d heard James coach Lyra over the years.

Lyra looked across at her. She was hesitant, just as she always was, to perform magic in front of her, in front of anyone. Embarrassment played a large part in this, Marlene was sure. She knew that Lyra had always disliked the fact that it took her so much longer than everyone else to master simple spells and charms. But there had always been something else, something other than Lyra’s own soft brand of shame.

There was a shadow, a flame flickering behind the eyes that looked across the table at her now. That wasn’t the shadow of shame. That was something else. Something that Marlene would give almost anything to decipher.

With a deep breath, Lyra closed her eyes briefly. Her whole attention focussed on her wand as she opened her eyes again. Slowly, she moved her wrist.

Marlene saw a spark. And then the air between them exploded. Shrieking, she threw herself under the table. But by the time she managed to protect her head, it was all over. The flaming air had been extinguished.

Righting herself on her seat, Marlene immediately looked to Lyra.

The girl’s grip was white knuckled around her wand. Her eyes were closed tight and there was a distinctive pained look pinching her features.

‘You okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ Lyra said, voice like cold steel.

Marlene didn’t believe her for a second, but she knew better than to ask her if she was sure. And she definitely knew better than to ask her to try again.

And if she did work up the nerve, there was no way Lyra would have agreed. It was a stupid decision to even attempt it in the first place. She knew it wouldn’t work and now what had she got for her trouble? Her hands were shaky, the constant pain in her stomach was now pulsing so much that she could hear it. And, on top of all that, she’d almost hurt Marlene.

After composing herself, Lyra dropped the blasted stick back into her bag and gathered up her things. Marlene didn’t say anything as she did the same.

They walked back to the common room in silence. By now dinner had finished and students were most likely in their common rooms, leaving the corridors clear and quiet. For this, Lyra could not have been more grateful.

With every step she took, the corridors swayed. The fabric of her school shirt grated against her stomach and she was still shaken from her own stupidity. To distract herself, Lyra started inspecting the portraits. Normally the way they’d avert their eyes as she passed would irritate her, tonight however, she could care less.

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady the two parted ways. Marlene cast a worried look over her shoulder as she headed into the common room. As the portrait swung closed, leaving Lyra out in the corridor, an uneasy feeling washed over her, settling in her gut as she checked her watch.

8:55. She couldn’t procrastinate anymore.

Clenching her jaw, Lyra slowly made her way down the corridor.

ooOOoo

It was the sound of someone clearing their throat that had her blinking out of the stupor she’d been in for the last two minutes.

Looking around, she realised that the sound had come from the gargoyle statue. Scowling at it, Lyra muttered the password, causing the gargoyle to step aside, revealing the top step of the revolving stone staircase.

On the walk here, Lyra had tried to remember everything Sirius had told her about the headmaster’s office. Despite having tried to prepare herself, though, Lyra still felt on edge. And as the staircase stopped, revealing a small landing and a heavy door that was slightly ajar, she had to close her eyes in an attempt to regain some semblance of composure.

Opening her eyes, steeling her confidence, she strode through the door.

The room was empty.

Never having been summoned to his office before, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting. Even from outside she’d felt the amount of magic emanating from the room and she realised, with no small amount of dread, that there was a great deal Sirius had forgot to mention.

The room was smaller than she’d imagined. The circular shape left her with the distinct impression that the walls were closing in. She felt her shoulders hunch. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the walls closest to her, covered in thick tomes with flaking fabric and faded lettering.

A constant hum of soft noise and activity blanketed the air. Delicate silver and bronze instruments littered the available spaces on tabletops and shelves. They whirled, popped, spun around like spinning tops, and even those that lay stationery oozed an energy that rippled straight to her, making her skin itch.

Hesitantly stepping further into the room, her feet paused when she saw what was sitting on the shelf behind the large claw-footed desk. Looking as worn and as tattered as ever, the Sorting Hat sat unanimated, harmless, meaningless. But even without a trace of life, Lyra still couldn’t shake the feeling that it was looking right at her, watching her, judging her, silently reminding her of things she already knew. Of what she had done.

Stifling the frustrated anger that had started to rise in her like flames, she forced herself further into the room.

She was only a metre or two away from the Headmaster’s desk when she stopped dead.

She was keenly aware of two things. Only one of those things came as a shock, however, the other was something she’d been dreading ever since entering the office . . . no, it had been even longer than that . . . she’d been dreading it ever since McGonagall told her that _this_ is where she’d serve detention – _here,_ where _he_ could watch on from above.

Knowing that Dumbledore could make an appearance at any moment, she quickly scoured the surrounding walls where a sea of portraits hung. Most of the past headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts were snoozing in their frames, or at least they were pretending to. A few of the bolder ones appeared awake and were staring at her, undisguised and unblinking. She paid them no mind as she searched for the frame she knew would be up there.

What would he say to her being here? Would he report back to _them_? If he did, would they see fit to send her another letter? This time they could very well spit on her name and they might not be as kind as to forgo the use of a howler. Dread grew like rising rapids at the possibilities as she glanced from one old painted face to the next.

‘Ah, Miss Black!’

Lyra gave a start, looking away from the wall at once. The sight of Albus Dumbledore standing behind his desk was enough to cause the rapids to recede a little but the sick feeling lingered like sea foam, clinging to her stomach and lungs.

The headmaster was positively beaming, blue eyes sparkling from behind his half-moon spectacles as he regarded her. She’d never had the urge to shuffle her feet more in her life. Thankfully, he motioned for her to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk before the urge became too overwhelming.

She sat down as naturally as she could manage, being careful not to frustrate her condition. She made sure to keep her eyes fixed on the edge of the desk, instead of meeting the old man’s eyes, or resuming her search through the portraits overhead, or looking at the creature whose eyes she could feel boring through her skin, or at the long, knobbed wand Dumbledore had just placed on the desk, that felt so strange and overwhelming.

Dumbledore remained standing even after she’d sat down. If anyone else had been wearing the same expression, she might have viewed them as benign. But he wasn’t anyone else. So instead of meeting his eyes, she gave in and met the stare of the other thing that had delivered her such a shock a moment ago.

She’d read about phoenix’s, of course, but seeing one in real life made the books she’d read seem more like children’s stories – crude, basic and truly undeserving of the real thing.

It’s red and gold plumage gleamed. It didn’t simply reflect the light of the fire burning softly in the hearth next to it, it seemed to radiate its own light, as if the feathers were being luminesced from beneath. She imagined its wingspan to fill the entire office wall-to-wall. But what really proved the most mesmerising thing about it was its small, black, eyes that glinted at her like precious stones.

It was studying her, inspecting her with a level of intensity the Headmaster could never hope to achieve. She looked it over in return. Its eyes followed every move hers did and she couldn’t seem to look away.

‘I’ve just made a pot of tea. Would you care for a cup?’

With a great deal of effort Lyra tore her eyes away from the bird long enough to murmur a quick, ‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ but as soon as Dumbledore’s back was to her, she found her attention being pulled back.

It wasn’t just the fact that she was looking at an incredibly rare animal that had her intrigued . . . She could almost _feel_ its curiosity, could almost _hear_ its mind working. It was as if the thing were trying to talk to her in a language she couldn’t understand. On top of everything else, frustration now took its place within her, causing her to unconsciously shift in her seat.

She knew she should have said she was sick and delayed this blasted detention.

Suddenly, just soft enough not to be noticed by Dumbledore, the phoenix clicked its beak.

Lyra had to grip the edge of her seat as a ripple shot through her. A hitch in her breath was the only outward show of surprise she’d allow herself to make in such public and curious company. She forced herself to release a low breath as she tried to ignore the warmth still washing through her. But she couldn’t seem to relax enough to let go of the armrests.

Blinking, Lyra stared accusingly at the bird through narrowed eyes, their unintelligible conversation growing suddenly more sinister.

But as it sat on its perch, blinking back at her, it’s head slightly tilted to one side, it didn’t seem threatening. And it certainly didn’t seem threatened by her. If anything, it looked even more curious than before, like it had just conducted an experiment and was now puzzling over the results.

Yes, an experiment . . . a controlled one at that. It had known that she would be able to handle such a large surge of raw magic. So, if it knew she wouldn’t be hurt by it then, maybe it knew that she was _–_

‘Sugar?’

It took all her control not to jump again. She’d almost forgotten about Dumbledore, who had been bustling about in the back corner of the room. She shook her head – trying to dislodge her thoughts as much as answer Dumbledore – and watched as he placed the teacup on the desk in front of her.

She stared at it while Dumbledore took a seat in his high-backed chair. She couldn’t seem to move. Whether it was the lingering effects of the bird’s experiment or still being stuck within her own head, she wasn’t sure. After taking a few sips from his own cup, the headmaster put it aside, steepling his fingers.

‘And how are you this evening, Miss Black?’

For such a simple question it was harder to think of an appropriate answer. Lyra felt all the things she wanted to say rise in her throat like bile. She wanted to say that her stomach hurt, that it had been throbbing consistently for days and had now become constantly painful. Every movement she made only sought to frustrate the issue and she didn’t know whether she was in more pain when she stood or when she had the chance to sit down. She wanted to say that she was annoyed, not at anything in particular, but just annoyed, like a rash that wouldn’t budge. And she wanted to say that she was tired, so very tired.

She wanted to say all these things . . . but he was the last person who would ever hear them. Swallowing her words, the corners of her lips twitched up in a polite half-smile of acknowledgement and she replied with, ‘I’m fine, thank you, sir.’

‘I trust that you are looking forward to the end of the year? I know how taxing NEWT revision can be.’

She nodded her head. Stamping on the disastrous study session she’d come from.

If Dumbledore was at all disappointed by the lack of response, he wasn’t showing it.

‘Although I was not present during the morning excitement the other week, I have been given a full report by Professor McGonagall and the other professors who were present. I understand that pressures have been running somewhat high and I have already discussed the matter amongst the staff. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if tempers were to be kept under control.’ 

She made sure to keep all the muscles in her face relaxed, impassive, unyielding, as she pondered just whose interests he was referring to. Annoyingly she felt her nostrils flare and could have sworn that she saw a spark burst in the fire behind Dumbledore, she hoped she’d just imagined it.

Lyra nodded in apparent agreement, doing whatever needed to be done to speed this conversation along. Still not meeting Dumbledore’s eye, she missed the way he seemed to narrow in on her.

‘I received an inquiry from the Ministry of Magic a few weeks ago about an incident of great magical energy that was detected around the area I believe your family’s house to be.’

There was no mistaking it this time. The fire momentarily flared up in the grate. The anxiety that had settled like thick liquid in the depths of Lyra’s stomach started to vaporize, filling her innards with uncomfortable, stifling, choking smog.

‘Is there anything you wish to talk to me about, Miss Black?’

Lyra looked at the wall where the portraits hung again, this time she spotted the one she’d been hoping to avoid in the first place. His eyes were hard, mouth pressed into a thin white line as he peered down at her. At least he wasn’t sporting his usual sneer, not that she liked the calculating stare much better. She looked away immediately.

‘Phineas has agreed not to relay anything he hears in this room tonight whilst visiting his other portrait,’ Dumbledore said, following her gaze.

Lyra stayed still and silent. She watched the phoenix, trying to ignore Dumbledore as he rose from his chair and moved out of her line of site. Curiosity eventually got the better of her and she looked behind her.

He stood at a small waist-high table near the door she’d entered through. On it sat a glass chess set, the pieces small and strangely shaped, sitting immobile in their assigned places.

‘Do you play chess, Miss Black?’ He said after what seemed an incredibly long time. His voice was casual, light, innocent. She frowned at the change in atmosphere. ‘Surely your parents must have taught you.’

It took her a moment to find her voice. ‘They did,’ she said, surprised by how sure of herself she sounded, ‘but I’ve never attempted the muggle version.’

Dumbledore gave an odd sort of chuckle which came out more like a huff. ‘I must admit that I find it much more challenging.’ He picked up a piece made of frosted glass, examining it for a moment before placing it gently back on its square. ‘Much more difficult when you aren’t getting help form the other pieces. You’re forced to really on natural ability alone.’

This time she didn’t notice the growing flames.

‘Of course,’ he said turning around and making his way back to his chair, Lyra watching his every step, ‘some of us hold the upper hand even there. It can be a most interesting game if all players are open and willing to play to the best of their abilities . . . even if doing so would leave the other player at a disadvantage.’

She couldn’t help it, her eyes narrowed as she realised something. This wasn’t a meeting to discuss her schooling or her behaviour . . . this was an offer. _Natural ability_. But for him to voluntarily raise the subject – even as vague as he was being – then he must have some sort of idea. And if he knew . . .

She swallowed and schooled her features back into a look of cool, detached mild curiosity as he sat, facing her again.

‘But it has been years since I came across a stimulating opponent,’ he said, shrugging meekly, voice still annoyingly light.

There it was, plain, simple and finally out in the open. Dumbledore levelled his gaze and bore it into hers. On instinct, Lyra lowered her eyes to the table, her jaw clenching tightly, hands retreating into the pockets of her robe.

Fine, if he wanted to do it this way, if he wanted an answer, she’d give him one.

‘If you don’t mind my saying, sir, that sounds like the words of someone who is used to winning. Such attitudes could make bearing a loss considerably more difficult.’ _Losing may not be to your liking_ , is what she wanted to stay, but she bit it back.

‘Would you choose not to play for fear of losing?’ The levity in his voice was dulling, becoming heavier. The silk was becoming steel.

‘I have learnt, Professor,’ she said, making sure the tone of finality seeped into her next words, ‘that it is possible to win, and still loose.’

He regarded her for another moment, and she hoped that her words had been enough. It was far from the end of this discussion. But as of this moment, anything said after this point would just be words, and they both knew it.

Eventually, Dumbledore blinked.

‘Well if there really isn’t anything you would like to talk about, then you should probably be getting back to your Common Room.’

Lyra nodded her head once and tried not to stand up too eagerly. She had just started walking away when the headmaster spoke again.

‘Madam Pomfrey tells me that you haven’t yet been to see her?’

He said it so casually that he may have been enquiring about a meeting between friends that he had helped set up. It was then that Lyra realised that whilst James was writing Lily about what happened, his parents had no doubt been writing Dumbledore.

She turned just enough to be polite. ‘Mrs Potter gave me some potions and salve before I left. I’ve not yet needed to replace them.’

Liar. The salve ran out three days ago, the potions two days before that.

Dumbledore nodded politely. ‘Even so, it would be wise if you paid her a visit so she can check your progress.’ He leaned in ever so slightly and dipped his head so as to inspect her over the tops of his glasses. Lyra resisted the urge to be unnerved by the intensity of those blue orbs that seemed to look right through her.

‘Yes, sir, I will.’ Then she turned and left the room whilst trying to ignore the three sets of eyes she could feel burrowing into her back.

Dumbledore watched her retreat from the room. He was acutely aware that every step she took away from him, the softer the fire seemed to become.

‘I see what you mean, Albus,’ said a voice from above once the door to the office had closed. He looked up to see Phineas staring at the door. ‘She’s getting worse.’

He was inclined to agree with that diagnosis and without hesitation, Dumbledore pulled a blank piece of parchment in front of him, dipped his eagle-feather quill into the inkwell and started with

_My friend,_

_I thought it only right to tell you . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated: 26.08.2020
> 
> So, here’s the second update for this week. 
> 
> Just to clarify (because I have a feeling that some people may groan at the way Lyra appears to regard Dumbledore) this is not a Dumbledore-bashing fic. I will never intentionally bash any character in this fic (or any of my stories) because I believe that every character has both flaws and redeeming/interesting qualities. There is a reason as to why Lyra acts the way she does towards Dumbledore, and it will be explained eventually, so bear with me.
> 
> I also felt like including the little titbit about Lily’s cat and it being gifted by James to try and tie in the Potter’s cat (which is not Crookshanks according to JK, who’s word I will be sticking to throughout this story).
> 
> That’s it for me. Till next time, stay safe, stay happy.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Frustration surged through every step Lyra took. It made her feet heavy, her skin itch and her head pound.

When she was young, years before they'd gone to get their own wands, Lyra and Sirius often explored the many rooms of Grimmauld Place. One day, Sirius had insisted she follow him after declaring to the near empty room that was intolerably bored and needed to go an adventure. Lyra had followed, partly out of her own boredom, but mostly to protect her twin lest he find himself in an undesirable situation. Even from such a young age she'd assumed her position of his protector, not that she'd vocalise such a thing to him.

Eventually, they'd found themselves in the drawing room, a moderately sized room that, while it had the potential to be bright, remained darkened due to the heavy curtains, black wallpapers and mahogany furniture. It didn't take long for Sirius to start rummaging through the contents of the cupboards, and while he marvelled over objects she knew were dark natured and potentially dangerous, Lyra moved to the bookshelf. Her young eyes took in the words she knew and glazed over those she didn't, she ran her fingertips over the worn leather.

She remembered jumping when Sirius let out short sigh. 'It's boring in here, let's go find Kreacher.' He left without waiting for her, but not before she saw him pocketing a short, silver knife. She thought about following him and trying to convince him to return it, but she simply sighed, turning from the books and starting towards the door. She'd almost reached it when movement caught her eye. On the wall beside her, sitting in an ornate frame, sat the portrait of a man, his dark eyes fixed on her small frame, pointed eyebrows pulled together in a probing stare. She held his gaze for only a few seconds, before dropping her eyes to the ground and retreating from the room.

Later that night, she'd returned to the portrait of her great-great-grandfather. When she'd asked Phineas Nigellus why he hadn't alerted her parents over Sirius' thievery, he simply shrugged, telling her that the knife was of no consequence, and that her presence indeed reassured him that the most important item still remained safe. At the time she'd not realised to what he was referring.

That was the last and only conversation she'd ever had between the portrait and, try as she could to forget about his portrait, he'd made it hard for his presence to be ignored completely. More than once she'd caught him moving between the various portraits hanging throughout Grimmauld Place casting an assessing eye after her, only to shift from the frame when she confronted him with a glare.

But she feared that a glare would do nothing to deter the infuriating portrait tonight. Lyra huffed as she pictured Dumbledore looking up his crooked nose to conspire through the night. What an idiot she'd been for ever stepping foot in that room in the first place. The more sensible thing she should have done would have been to feign a sickness and locked herself away for the foreseeable future until Dumbledore's curiosity ran its course.

'Miss Black?'

Lyra stifled a gasp and tried to school her features into a neutral expression as she turned to face the sound of oncoming footsteps. Flicking her eyes up only for a moment, she was met with the dark-robed figure of Professor Antone making his way towards her, collar cocked high against the cool evening air.

She slipped her hands into the pockets of her robes, choosing to fix her eyes on a spider struggling to climb the stone wall to escape through an open window. It's progress halted when the footsteps stopped before her.

'I did not expect to meet any students out in the halls this close to curfew,' Professor Antone said, tone light, conversational.

Lyra tried to read beneath his words, grinding her teeth when she couldn't.

'I had a meeting, Professor.'

Antone hummed, as if he had been expecting such an answer.

Lyra wondered who else from the teaching staff knew about her so-called detention with the Headmaster.

The spider continued up the stone, its long legs grappling for purchase. Finally, it reached the ledge, and as it passed through the window into the night, a high-pitched, echoing howl greeted its arrival, as if in celebration.

Lyra's eyes narrowed in on the dark patch of dense trees edging the perimeter of the forest the howl had torn from.

What the hell were they playing at.

'I've heard,' Antone started, causing Lyra to blink in surprise, having forgotten for a moment that he was there, 'that Headmaster Dumbledore allows a vast array of creatures to occupy the school grounds, centaurs, werewolves and the like.'

It was her turn to give a noncommittal hum, knowing all about what exactly hid in the Dark Forest.

'I imagine that it could be a rather frightening prospect to be a student here knowing that dark creatures lurked so close.'

It took all her will power not to frown and meet his enquiring look. Instead, she remained as composed as she could manage, ignoring the tightness settling over her chest.

'Quite, sir,' she muttered, taking half a step away from the window.

'Well,' Antone said, a little louder, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them up, 'you best be running along to your common room, Ms Black, after all, it is almost curfew.'

Lyra didn't need to be told twice. Nodding her head as a way of quick farewell, she turned on her heel and continued along the corridor.

She never heard any footsteps other than her own as she walked away.

By the time she made it through the portrait hole, the common room was mostly empty, with only a small handful of students who had strewn themselves throughout the room to complete last minute homework. Without having to look up from the ground, Lyra immediately took note of the group who had sat themselves around the fire.

She refused to acknowledge anyone as she crossed the room, her head was pounding so much that with every step the room tilted a little more.

She was so relieved to find the dormitory empty that she sagged a little on the door before heading directly for the bathroom. With a simple twitch of the fingers, her pyjamas soared into her hands.

ooOOoo

'Do you think she's alright?' Peter asked when Lyra disappeared upstairs. 'Only . . . she looked awfully pale.'

Marlene looked around the group, wondering if anyone was going to answer him, but they all seemed to be submerged in their own thoughts. Lily kept looking from the staircase to the others every few seconds, a confused expression pushing her eyebrows down.

James seemed to be studying Remus and Sirius, who were both seemingly preoccupied with staring into the fire. Remus looked pained and worried, and maybe it was a trick of the firelight, but Marlene could have sworn that his eyes looked more amber than their usual shade of green.

Mary, who sat closest to the fire, was staring openly at Sirius with a puppy dog-like look of concern. In any other circumstance, such a look would have prompted Marlene into releasing a scoff.

After a short silence, Sirius looked up and instantly met Marlene's eyes. He went to speak, but he didn't have to. He'd always been fairly easy to read.

Marlene rose from her spot. 'I'll go check on her,' she said, placing a hand on Sirius' arm on her way past.

Sirius didn't say anything, didn't offer any form of thanks as she climbed the stairs. He simply stared at the spot on his arm where her hand had touched him.

Lyra was halfway through pulling her pyjama top gingerly over her head when someone banged on the door.

'Lyra?'

Lyra jumped, wincing immediately. She went to answer but decided that the effort required to do so wouldn't be worth it, Marlene could wait.

'Lyra, are you alright in there?'

Marlene may as well have been pounding against Lyra's skull. She held her head, rubbing her temples hard, trying to get it to stop throbbing.

But Marlene's pace had increased. Without looking in the mirror, Lyra spun around and yanked the door open. The blonde stood before her, mouth open mid-yell, hand up ready to bang on the door that was longer there.

Her dumbfounded expression held as Lyra brushed past her, but she recovered quickly. Sensing Lyra's mood, Marlene merely walked toward her own bed instead of following the dark-haired girls to hers.

'How was detention?'

'Fine,' was all the response she got Lyra climbed into her four-poster.

'Well, what happen ––'

She was cut short when Lyra pulled the curtains around her bed closed.

With a silent sigh, Marlene made her way back down to the Common Room, all the while cursing the Black temper.

She'd long since recognised the difference between the twins and how they dealt with things that didn't agree with them.

Sirius, she imagined, would have been the sort of child to throw immeasurable, painful tantrums. She could just picture a three-year-old version of him, throwing things, stomping his little feet into the ground, shouting in a high-pitched squeal. Even now, as a supposed adult, Sirius seemed to live by the motto 'do now, think later' . . . If ever _._

Lyra, however, . . . Secretly Marlene was incredibly grateful that she had never been the cause of upsetting her friend. To say that Lyra gave the silent treatment would have been a gross under exaggeration. After all, Lyra was a Black and along with the temper, the twins had also inherited the signature Black mask. Unreadable and unrelenting.

But where Sirius didn't quite know what to do with it or how to use it, the mask could fix itself so naturally to Lyra's features that anyone meeting her for the first time whilst she was in a mood would have them checking their every move for fear of annoying her further.

It had taken a few years for Marlene to figure out how to handle the two.

Confront for Sirius, retreat like hell for Lyra.

Although she didn't really have to concern herself all that much with the former, which was a shame really. Out of the two, Sirius' reactions did prove the most entertaining.

'Maybe talk to her tomorrow,' she said when she re-entered the Common Room and found six pairs of eyes on her. 'She's . . . very tired.'

Sirius' jaw was clamped, a muscle there twitching to a furious beat, his hands wrung together, knuckles bleeding white.

_Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ._

Sirius shot up from the lounge and stormed up the stairs to his dormitory without a word or look to any of them.

Marlene watched him go, not at all surprised when the others – led by James – quickly followed, Remus obviously hiding a wince as he pushed himself off the armchair.

From out the corner of her eye, Marlene saw Mary move forward, as if to chase after Sirius herself. Without looking her, Marlene said blandly, 'Don't bother, Mary.' She didn't acknowledge the glare she received in response.

ooOOoo

It took Sirius until lunch the next day before he could confront Lyra about what had happened during her detention. She wasn't in the Great Hall when he arrived for breakfast, despite his coming down earlier than usual just to try and catch her. He'd become more irritated when Dumbledore failed to make an appearance at breakfast either. This, coupled with the fact that they had separate classes all day, had left Sirius in a sour mood when he spotted Lyra's figure making her way up to the castle from the grounds where she'd just finished her Care of Magical Creatures class.

Telling the others to head into the Great Hall for lunch, Sirius made a beeline for Lyra, ignoring her protests as he grabbed hold of her and steered her off in the direction of the greenhouses.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' She hissed when he finally let her go.

'What happened last night?'

Sirius wasn't at all perturbed with the glare she shot at him, instead he held his own unrelenting stare. He knew that if he didn't have this confrontation with her now then she'd never tell him what happened.

After leveling another scathing look, Lyra finally relented.

Sirius didn't interrupt as she recounted the conversation she'd had with Dumbledore, or how she feared that the portrait of Phineas Nigellus would relay it to their parents. He frowned when he learned of the encounter she'd had with Professor Antone, who Sirius had been wary of all year. Normally upon meeting new people, Sirius found himself instantly suspicious, sometimes downright defensive for no discernible reason. The first Defence Against the Dark Arts class they'd had back in September however, where they were introduced to Antone for the first time had left Sirius feeling next to nothing, and that in itself was enough for him to remain careful around the young professor.

'Well, that doesn't sound too bad,' Sirius said when she'd finished. 'Better than scrubbing out all the toilets on the third floor, anyways,' he mumbled.

Lyra shot him a dead panned look.

'What?'

Shaking her head, she turned to make her way back up to the castle. 'Right. Fine,' she muttered as she walked away.

'What!' Sirius called out, striding to catch up with her. Grabbing hold of her arm, he ignored her protests as he turned her to face him again. 'It's not like he tried to recruit you!'

Lyra couldn't help but look aghast. She'd always failed to understand how someone could be so smart and so incredibly dense all at once. Dumbledore didn't have to ask her outright like he'd done for the others. He knew that she wouldn't accept such an obvious invitation. So, he'd taken the route of the round-about, cautious ploy. The one full of riddles, and pretence, and everything she couldn't stand.

'He did try!' Lyra hissed. 'And I won't be roped into anything, not by him, not by you, not by anyone.'

She couldn't believe that they were back here again, rehashing the same fight they'd had months ago when Sirius had come to her with the news that Dumbledore had asked him and the others to become part of his little resistance movement.

'Is that why you keep refusing?' Sirius scoffed, finally letting go of her arm. 'Out of pure stubbornness? You want everyone to know that you do things on your terms, even if it ends of up killing people?'

'Don't be dramatic, no one's died.'

'It's only a matter of time! There's a war starting out there, Lyra,' Sirius said, pointing out over the grounds.

'But not in here! Stop acting like you're already out there Sirius. You're not a soldier, you're a student!'

'And when I _am_ out there? Do you care about what will happen then, to me? To any of us?'

At his words, a memory of Sirius being dragged back by their father burned in her mind, his outstretched hand connecting with hers which she held tightly, flooding his skin with warmth.

How could he ask such a thing.

'I am trying to keep people safe!' She said quietly, watching Sirius, now panting from exertion, throw his hands in the air. 'You know, more than anyone else, what could happen. I refuse to act rashly.'

'Or are you just refusing to act?'

She'd never change, Sirius had known this for years. Whether it was because she couldn't, or she didn't want to, or both, he didn't know. But at this point, he found he cared very little as to which one it was. It was true, he more than anyone else, knew the kinds of instincts that drove her, but was that an excuse to stand by and do nothing while some madman went after her friends, her family?

But time was running out, for all of them. In a few short months, they'd leave Hogwarts and all the things that they'd read about in the Daily Prophet; the attacks, the disappearances, that will become their new lives. And no matter how much she wanted to deny it, Lyra would be right there with them. Her refusal to help went against every fibre of his being, her selfishness was infuriating.

'It's time to accept reality,' he said as calmly as he could manage.

She stared at him for a beat, silver eyes swirling at a rapid pace. Finally, she loosed a wry chuckle.

'Oh? And what's that on your shoulder? A shield?'

He didn't bother going after her this time. He watched as she walked away, his hand coming to grip the strap of his bag that hung over his shoulder. What infuriated him most about her, is that as much as he told himself she knew nothing about the world, that she didn't know what she was talking about, that she was too naïve, too unwilling to see things as they were, he knew that it was far from the truth.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Sirius started back up towards the castle.

Her argument had a validity that he couldn't ignore. But he was adamant that his did also. He feared that they would be having this fight the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, let me apologise. I realise it's been a while, work and study got in the way unfortunately. But I have the next month and a half to try and get as much written as I can, so hopefully I'll be able to post a few more chapters.
> 
> I was going to try and delay this confrontation between the twins but this just felt like the right moment. I've had the shield line that Lyra ends on in my head for years! I promise I'll try my hardest to put some more light-hearted moments in the following chapters (sometimes I feel like this story so far is very doom and gloom).
> 
> Till next time!


	11. Chapter 10

## Chapter Ten

Even hours later, Marlene was still sneaking glances between the two, only deterred from doing so when Sirius caught her eye, sending back a smug wink. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her potions essay, scribbling another sentence about the uses of powdered occamy shells before finding herself looking towards the other end of the table.

Unlike her brother, Lyra made no move to acknowledge the fact that she was being inspected. There was no doubt in Marlene’s mind that her curiosity went unnoticed by the eldest Black. Lyra had the uncanny ability to know about everything that was going on around her, she’d simply mastered the art of not letting that fact show. Marlene allowed herself to take in the concentration that was pinching the girl’s brow before forcing herself to return to her work.

The twins had walked into the Great Hall halfway through lunch both looking rather miffed. And between all the enquiring looks sent throughout the rest of the group, no one had yet discovered what had taken place between them. Things had been tense, ever since they came back from the Christmas break. And with all that had happened to them, she would have expected them to be thicker than thieves right now.

What was frustrating her most of all was that any attempt at trying to get to the bottom of it by asking either of them directly. She knew better than that by now.

‘Alright, I’ve had enough of this!’

Marlene jumped as Sirius’ chair scraped loudly against the library floor. The fact that he’d managed to sit quietly for the past fifteen minutes was a true sign of the strange times they found themselves in. Apparently being so close to NEWT’s hadn’t managed to pass anybody’s notice, not even those of whom had never studied a day in their life before.

Waving off Madam Pince as she came to reprimand them for the noise, Sirius gathered his rolls of parchment into his satchel, smirking as he squeezed Potter on the shoulders. Marlene tried to hear what Sirius whispered before he let go of James and waltzed out of the library.

Predictably, James was up not thirty seconds after Sirius had left. Unpredictably, Lily followed along with Peter.

‘You coming?’ She whispered to the rest of the table as she stood up.

Marlene looked around quickly, Peter had already hurried off, the only indication Lyra made that she’d heard Lily was the brief halt in her scratching quill on her parchment. Marlene, sick of the mountains of homework she’d already done since the day started, didn’t need to be asked twice. As she cast a drying charm on her parchment, she focussed her attention on Lupin who had been sitting across from her.

He’d been watching the table empty just as she had. But Marlene thought she saw his eyes flicker across to Lyra, almost as if in question. It was subtle, no doubt about that, but Marlene had ben observing the two for a couple of months now, trying to prove a theory she’d been developing.

‘You lot go ahead,’ Remus said. ‘I still got a lot to do.’

Lily nodded. She thought nothing of it, because it was Lupin who said it and such a thing was relatively in character. If any of the other boys had said that then no one would have believed them. But Lupin was the studious one, the seemingly responsible one. Or so he would have them believe.

As she followed Lily out of the library, Marlene cast a backwards glance, smirking when she noticed that Lupin was leaning across to talk directly to Lyra, who had finally stopped writing.

Marlene frowned. Growing up in a big family meant many things. It was often noisy, the house was cluttered, with her mother often charming the pots and pan to wash themselves, the clothes to fold themselves. And there was no such thing as privacy. She was not used to not knowing.

‘What’re you frowning at?’

Marlene gave Lily a side glance, trying to stifle her growing frustration. If what she suspected was true, then one of her best friends was keeping something enormous from her. Now, Marlene was very sued to Lyra keeping things to herself, it was something that everyone had come to expect, and something they’d accepted about the girl. But she couldn’t help but think, if Lupin and Lyra were together, and they were indeed happy, then why would they want to keep it from everyone?

A loud, barking laugh echoed throughout the corridor. Marlene glared at Sirius. There was no doubt that he knew about this whole thing. Which was strange, considering she would have expected Sirius to have beaten Lupin to a pulp, but as far as she could tell they were still as close as ever.

‘I have a theory . . .’ Marlene started, knowing that it was time for her to enlist some help if she wanted to prove it. Before she could say anything else, however, a booming voice erupted from behind them. Turning, the group found Professor Slughorn striding towards them, attention entirely focussed on Lily and James.

‘Ah, Miss Evans, Mister Potter, I’m so glad I found you,’ he said, grinning widely. ‘I’ve been putting together a little party for the end of the year, and would be most pleased to see you both there.’

While Lily nodded enthusiastically, James stared at the Professor. Lily Evans had been a favourite pupil of Slughorn for years now, it was a constant source of amusement to Marlene to watch Lily practically fawn over the Hogwarts Professors. James was still getting used to the attention that had gone hand-in-hand with the badge pinned haphazardly on his shirt collar.

Marlene shot an exasperated look at Sirius, who returned it with a smirk and a good-natured eye roll. Both of them could have turned into chickens on the spot and it would have gone entirely unnoticed.

Noticing a little bit of hesitation from the pair, Slughorn surged ahead in his appeal. ‘There’s quite a guestlist already! Plenty of very influential people within the ministry.’

‘Uh-’ James spluttered, looking to Lily desperately for guidance. Unfortunately for him, Lily merely shot him an annoyed glance, clearly trying to tell him to shut up and nod along. Which is exactly what James did.

‘Of course, we’d love to go, Professor,’ Lily said.

Marlene imitated gagging to Sirius. He stifled a laugh.

‘Brilliant!’ Slughorn said, clapping his hands together. ‘You should receive more formal invitations by the end of the week. Well, you all best be getting along to your common room, wouldn’t look good to have the Head Boy and Girl wondering around the corridors after hours.’

‘Of course, sir.’ Finally, James had managed to untie his tongue.

‘Good lad.’ Slughorn clapped James on the shoulder before making his way past them down the corridor.

After he disappeared from sight, Sirius couldn’t hold in his amusement anymore. His barking laugh rang out as he pushed into James’ side.

‘Of course, Professor!’ He said in a high-pitched voice. ‘We’d love to, Professor!’

‘Shut up!’ James ground out, running a hand absentmindedly through his hair. He turned to Lily. ‘We don’t really have to go, do we?’

‘Of course, we do!’ Lily said, starting off again down the corridor. The others trailed after her as she continued speaking. ‘It’ll be good to make some connections to the ministry before we leave Hogwarts. It’ll certainly make it easier to get a job there.’

James, still trying to ignore Sirius’s taunts, scoffed. ‘I don’t want to work at the Ministry.’

Lily stopped so suddenly that Marlene almost walked into her.

‘And what _do_ you want to do after Hogwarts?’

James’s hand was in his hair again as he looked away from her, shrugging as he took hold of Sirius’ robe, pulling him along down the corridor. Marlene caught Sirius’ eye as the two went past, raising her eyebrows at him. The look she got in return told her that this was a discussion he’d heard before. This display didn’t surprise Marlene in the slightest. When Lily and James first got together, it made sense to her. There was far too much history of tension between the two for them to remain supposed enemies. They were always destined to be much closer than that.

But no matter how many pins Dumbledore stuck on him, Potter would always remain a troublemaker, a joker, a marauder as he liked to call himself. And no matter how Potter influenced her, Lily Evans would always remain more than a little uptight when it came to her career in and out of Hogwarts.

Going to a Slugclub party sounded like the last thing Marlene would have considered fun, and not for the first time, she thanked Merlin that Slughorn had not deemed her worthy enough to join his little group.

As Lily started walking again, mumbling something about ‘useless Quidditch fantasies’, Marlene internally groaned, realising that Mary was also part of Slughorn’s little achievers. And if history was anything to be relied upon, then this would mean countless hours of Mary holding her own little investigation into which boy would be accompanying her. No doubt Lily and James would be taking each other, although she wouldn’t be surprised if, in an attempt at discretion, Slughorn would allow them to bring a “plus one”. As if anyone else would want to go, especially with people who were a known couple –

She shot a handout to grab hold of Lily’s robe, pulling her to a halt. Ignoring Lily’s protests, Marlene stared straight ahead, grin growing as a plan started to take shape in her head.

‘McKinnon, what is going on!’

Marlene’s grin reached it’s apex as she finally looked to Lily.

‘Remember that theory I was going to tell you about? You might be able to help me prove it.’

ooOOoo

It was relatively early when Lily walked into the Great Hall for breakfast the next day. Only a handful of students were scattered throughout the house tables. No doubt, the majority of the students were having a lie in to celebrate the start of the weekend. The hall was bathed in a pale, cool glow from the charmed ceiling that reflected the early morning light that currently washed through the castle grounds. A deep frost had taken hold throughout the night, keeping the temperature low, despite the sun that was slowly rising. The brief glimpses through the windows that Lily had managed to get on the way here had her smiling, it was as if the world had been covered in crystals, the frosted grounds shimmering.

Lily had gone to sleep and had awoken this morning thinking about Marlene’s shocking allegations she’d revealed last night. The pair had talked in hurried whispers as they made their way back to the common room. Marlene did most of the talking, keeping her voice low enough that it didn’t travel to James and Sirius who had walked on ahead. Lily had scoffed at first.

The idea that Remus Lupin and Lyra Black could have been having a relationship and could have been hiding it from them was absurd.

Surely, if it was really going on, then she would have perceived something by now. She realised that Lyra Black was an extremely private person, she had never truly opened up to Lily, no matter how hard she’d tried to get closer to her.

But she was much closer to Remus. Would he really keep something like that from her? She remembered in sixth year when she’d confronted him about his being a werewolf. He’d stood in shock for a full minute after she’d told him to cut out the bullshit, that she knew, that she’d known for some time, that she didn’t care, that she was curious. She might have been a little hurt that he expected her to abandon him when she found out, but she never held any malice towards him from keeping it from her. It was a difficult and painful topic for him.

But if he was going with Lyra, if they had been for a while and if they were happy, then why keep it from them?

As Lily scanned the Great Hall again, she quickly avoided looking too long at the Slytherin table, where she noticed two dark haired figures sat close together, talking quietly. It was too early to try and fathom what would have Severus Snape and Regulus Black chatting so raptly. Instead, she turned her attention to the Gryffindor table, eyes narrowing on the lone figure at the far end of the table.

Lily rarely came down to breakfast so early, especially on a Saturday. But there was one person who never failed in arriving and leaving before almost everyone else in the school, no matter what day of the week it was.

Lyra had her head down, attention seemingly fixed on a letter held before her. It wasn’t until Lily got closer to her, that she realised that every few seconds Lyra would glance across to the Slytherin table.

Fleetingly, Lily wondered if Lyra had talked to her youngest brother since Christmas.

Trying to catch her off guard, Lily huffed as she dropped into the sear opposite Lyra. She didn’t say anything after that, but just watched the dark-haired girl across from her fold up the letter, and carefully slip it back into its envelope. Try as she might, Lily couldn’t see who it was addressed from. Without acknowledging Lily at all, Lyra reached for her goblet, taking a long sip.

When she went in for a second sip, Lily gave in.

‘You came up late last night.’

Lyra lowered the goblet, looking vaguely at that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet that lay spread out on the table.

‘I suppose.’

‘Spent a long time in the library with Remus after we left?’

Lyra raised her eyebrow, suddenly getting the distinct impression that Lily was doing her best to imitate Marlene.

‘Well, we left when Pince kicked us out.’

‘We were all still in the Common Room then.’

Lyra could hear the suspicion build in her voice.

She was going to kill Marlene.

‘We went for a walk.’

Now it was Lily’s turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘Just the two of you?’

‘I would have preferred it to be just the one of us,’ Lyra muttered, turning to the next page of the Prophet. ‘But ever since Christmas, the boys have taken it upon themselves to ensure I’m never alone.’

That did it. Lily’s face fell instantly, and Lyra tried to control her triumphant smirk.

Apart from the brief conversation they’d had on the train, neither girl had discussed what had happened in Grimmauld Place. Lyra knew that Lily had wanted to, she’d caught the redhead staring one too many times for it be a coincidence. And while it was true that the boys had become infuriatingly more protective of her, it definitely wasn’t the reason Remus had escorted her back to the Common Room last night. Not that she’s ever admit that to Lily.

Thankfully, she knew the girl’s weakness all too well.

Sympathy.

Maybe it made Lyra a horrible person, for locating it and using it against her so quickly and so well. And maybe the absence of any real guilt made her a more horrible person still. But lack of guilt meant lack of hesitation. And lack of hesitation meant lack of suspicion, which made her tactics worth it.

For that’s what her world was. And it’s what it would most likely only ever be. And whether it would break her, or all those around her – she would keep it that way.

‘I’ll see you later. Enjoy Hogsmeade,’ Lyra said politely, getting up from the table and making her way out of the hall. It took all her willpower not to turn and look over to Regulus. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Sirius surfaced in her mind.

_If he wants to ignore us, then we’ll ignore him, good for nothing little shit._

Lyra frowned. She really needed to stop listening to him.

ooOOoo

The Three Broomsticks was positively humming, full of excited Hogwarts students, taking a break from their mountains of homework, and regular patrons, obviously disgruntled at having to share their daily watering hole with a bunch of over-eager teenagers.

Sirius and James had managed to secure a table in the far corner of the inn while Lily went to get their drinks. From this angle the boys could see everything. At the next table a group of Hufflepuff third years were recounting loudly their trip to the Shrieking Shack. James had nudged Sirius, both trying not to laugh too loudly when one of the boys had proclaimed having heard something in the shack screaming out.

Sirius choked when he turned his attention to the far side of the tavern. Annoyance quickly eating through his amusement. James, who was still in fits of laughter, missed the fact that Sirius had stopped, that the grin had completely fallen from his features. He was oblivious to the fact that Sirius was now glaring across the room at the couple in the corner.

Sirius never realised until that moment how much he disliked Bertram Aubrey.

‘Sirius, stop staring!’

Sirius jumped as Lily dropped his butterbeer on the table in front of him with a bang. She gave him a pointed look as she took the free seat next to James, sliding his butterbeer to him.

Having spotted what Sirius had, James sat up a little straighter.

‘Blimey, Aubrey’s braver than I thought,’ he said, chuckling as he took a swig.

‘Anyone willing to ask out McKinnon would have to be,’ muttered Sirius.

‘Oh, hush!’ Lily said, pinching James arm, which only made him laugh harder. Lily looked across the table, her eyes narrowing.

‘I’ve noticed you get a might huffy whenever Marlene involves herself in someone, Sirius,’ she said inquisitively. ‘Why is that?’

Sirius rolled his eyes. ‘Because it’s more evidence that Hogwarts lets just any simpleton in.’ He scoffed, ‘I mean, why would you voluntarily spend your free time with McKinnon.’

He took a deep mouthful of butterbeer so as to avoid the look of scepticism on Lily’s face, and the raised eyebrows of James’.

Thankfully Peter’s sudden appearance before them, panting and wide eyed provided an immediate distraction.

‘What the hell’s up with you?’ James said, earning another pinch from Lily.

Peter wheezed as he tried to form words. The joviality of seeing him struggle vanished when the words ‘Slytherins’ and ‘explosives’ were heard in quick succession.

They were out of their seats in a heartbeat, wands in hand, following Peter out the door and up the high street.

Even from a distance, Sirius could spot at least three small figures lying in the middle of the street. As they got closer, he could see that bits of the road had been blown away, some of the windows of the nearby shops were cracked.

‘It’s a body-bind curse,’ Lily said once they’d reached the students in the street. She bent down and removed the blindfolds they’d been wearing over their eyes as James muttered the counter curse.

Sirius surveyed the area, looking for anything else out of the ordinary, of anyone else lurking nearby. But there was nothing. No doubt whoever had done this had fled the scene immediately.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he said over his shoulder as he ran over to the closest alleyway, ignoring James and Lily as they told him to wait.

The alley was deserted by the time he reached it. Still holding his wand aloft, he began to walk blindly into the streets beyond, growing more and more frustrated as each street turned up nothing of interest.

After what could have fifteen minutes, or fifty, Sirius found himself in a street that ran parallel to the High Street. He was about to turn around and try a different route when something caught his eye. The flurry of a black robe caught in the wind as its wearer vanished between two buildings.

Sirius ran after them into a narrow laneway, stopping halfway down. Panting, he looked around him. The street offered no form of protection, there was no where they could have hidden. There were no side doors, or windows they could have escaped through.

Yet there was no one in sight.

‘Fuck!’

He was so sure he’d caught them. So sure that he’d be able to have something to show for his troubles. Growling he turned to leave the alley.

He was five strides away from reaching the street when a sharp-nailed, iron-clad grip closed around the hand that held his wand.

Spinning around in alarm, he was met with an extremely old looking woman. The potted skin on her hand and arm that peaked out from beneath her long, tattered robes, were nothing compared to her face. Sirius was immediately struck with the image of an Inferi as the woman’s skin was sunken, clinging to her bones like wax dripping down a candlestick. She was smiling, mouth full of yellow, rotting teeth. Sirius instinctively wrinkled his nose, she wreaked of mothballs, excessive amounts of cheap perfume and something metallic he couldn’t quite place.

‘And what brings such a young, handsome boy down this lane?’ She crowed up at him in a would-be silky sort of voice had it not been so gravely and false. Looking around the alley, her wretched smile grew when she realised just how sparse this part of the alley was.

‘What’s it to you?’ Sirius sneered.

The woman raised a thick eyebrow, looking Sirius up and down slowly, her grip on his wrist never slackening. ‘Pity,’ she muttered. ‘I get the scabbard but not the blade, how disappointing.’ She looked at him again. ‘But what a fine scabbard it is.’

And then she was pulling him with a strength that momentarily stunned him. Recovering quickly, he dug in his heels, trying to yank his arm free.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, woman? Let go of me!’

She ignored him. Panic was well and truly setting in now as they neared closer and closer to the end of the alleyway when a voice rang out behind them.

‘Sirius?!’

_Thank fuck._

‘James!’ Sirius called over his shoulder. ‘James, over here!’

As soon as he’d called out, the witch’s grip vanished. Wand now free, Sirius whipped around and had it pointing down into the shadows by the time James reached his side.

‘Sirius! You find anything?’ James said.

Not looking away from the where the witch had disappeared, Sirius slowly lowered his wand. ‘No, nothing,’ he turned away. ‘Let’s go.’

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be afraid to leave a review.


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